


Deadly Beloved

by angstytimelord



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Hannibal tries to be supportive - or does he?, M/M, Masturbation, Will is all fucked up, Will needs to watch his back
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-06
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-17 21:50:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 45
Words: 47,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/872317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angstytimelord/pseuds/angstytimelord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will learns that he should never mix his personal life with his work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Normal Behavior

Will tried to avoid looking at the crime scene tape as he walked past it; he always hated looking at the obvious signs that a crime had been committed. Though he dealt with violent, grisly murder on a daily basis, he didn't like the outward trappings of it.

This one had been particularly bad; he still felt disoriented and more than a little sickened by his trip into the killer's mind. This time, the killer had been far too easy to read -- and Will had known beyond any shadow of a doubt that this killer would be interested in _him_.

One thing that he'd gotten loud and clear from the details of the murders was that this man raped his victims before he killed them -- and took pleasure from it.

And it was easy enough to see that they all looked very much like Will.

He hadn't been able to tell if that had been deliberate or not; maybe this killer was just drawn to men who had Will's physical characteristics. But since it had been made public by the media that Will was one of the FBI agents working on the case, he couldn't help feeling vulnerable.

He didn't want to end up being one of this man's victims; just the thought of ending up like they had was enough to make him feel like he had to throw up. But he'd managed to keep his stomach from roiling, and to distance himself from what he was seeing and feeling.

This was the fourth victim, and it was horribly frustrating to know that he had gotten away with four murders and not been caught. It was even _more_ frustrating to know that they didn't have any kind of clue as to who he was, or where he could strike next.

More than once, he had thought of bringing Hannibal into this; he knew that the other man could have some insights that might help them with this case.

But the thought of involving his lover in his work made him hesitate; it wasn't that he didn't trust Hannibal, but more that he felt uneasy about mixing his personal and professional lives. He wanted to keep them as far separate as he could, to draw a firm line between them.

It might not be practical, but it was what he had to do.

He wasn't ashamed of his physical relationship with Hannibal; far from it. But he didn't want anyone to know what went on between the two of them, that he wasn't so much Hannibal's lover as his submissive. He didn't want anyone to know what he himself was like behind closed doors.

That thought brought a burning blush to his cheeks, especially when he remembered what he and Hannibal had done last night. It hadn't seemed degrading or embarrassing then, but thinking about it in the cold light of day almost made him cringe.

No, he wasn't exactly ashamed -- but it was more than a little embarrassing to think of what he'd willingly let Hannibal do to him last night.

Will pushed those thoughts out of his mind; he didn't need them crowding into his brain along with all that he had just absorbed from that grisly crime scene. He didn't want the two of them melding together; that could be dangerous for his state of mind.

It was disturbing enough that all of the victims they'd found so far had looked a lot like him; he didn't want to start picturing himself in their places. He didn't want to find yet another victim and see his own face staring up at him when they got to the scene and he was alone with the corpse.

It was beginning to seem as if that was the killer's intent.

That had almost happened today, which was probably why he felt so disoriented and squeamish. Just the thought of his own body being violated and eviscerated like that was enough to make him shudder; thinking that such a fate could await him was frightening.

He couldn't help feeling sickened by what he'd seen today -- anyone would be. Even Jack had looked a little green around the gills, and he'd seen more horrible things in the line of duty than most people had. But the sight had disturbed Will more than it had anyone else.

That might be what this killer meant to do -- he might know that Will would be one of the agents working to catch him, and that would be his way of trying to make Will back away from the case. Or there could be another, even more chilling, reason.

Maybe this killer was after _him_. Maybe these corpses that he'd already left behind were just his way of working up to the victim that he really wanted.

Maybe the intended victim all along had been Will himself.

That was a sobering -- as well as a frightening -- thought. But he couldn't let it make him turn his back on this case; if he did that, then the killer would win, in a way. If he _wasn't_ after Will specifically, then having him off the case might be what he wanted.

If he could frighten Will away from the case, then that would mean that he'd be able to go on unchecked for quite a while to come. Will didn't want to sound cocky, but he _knew_ that if he stayed with the case, he could come up with enough leads to catch this man.

But if he was forced to turn away from it for fear that his own life would be in danger, then that could mean that it would take them much longer to find this killer -- if they ever did. What Will brought to the investigation could be the difference between catching him, and letting him run free.

They couldn't let that happen. They couldn't put that many lives in danger -- even if him staying on the case might mean that he was putting his own life in jeopardy.

He'd faced danger before, Will told himself firmly. He could do it again. Besides, there were always plenty of people around him when he was working; the only time he was alone was when he asked everyone to leave the room so he could put his empathy to good use.

And when he did that, the crime scene had already been secured; there was no danger of anyone lurking in the shadows. There was no one hiding anywhere to leap out at him, no danger that he would be harmed. There was nothing for him to be afraid of.

Then why was a trickle of icy-cold fear suddenly running down his spine?

Will shuddered at the remembrance of what that corpse had looked like -- and at the eerie resemblance it had borne to his own face. He didn't want to think about that; he couldn't let himself be distracted from the case by his own fears. He had to push them aside.

Maybe if he talked to Hannibal about this, his lover could manage to calm those fears and make him feel more like himself again. He'd been pushing himself too hard today; all he really needed was a relaxing evening with Hannibal, then a good night's rest.

Yes, he would go to Hannibal, talk to him, try to put all that he'd seen today into perspective. He needed that distance, needed to let rational thought processes take control.

Somehow, Hannibal was always able to calm him. He could take away the fear, make Will feel normal and sane again -- even though what they usually spent their time doing in the dead of night was anything but what most people would classify as "normal" behavior.

In some ways, it was possible that their behavior mirrored this killer's -- without the killing part, of course. It looked as though this man tortured his victims before he killed them, made them submissive to his desires just as Will was submissive to Hannibal.

It was disconcerting to think that he could have that much in common with these victims.

But he had to look at that possibility, no matter how disturbing -- or terrifying -- it might be for him. Hannibal would be able to help do that, calmly and rationally. Hannibal always had a way of putting things that could help him look at them in a different light.

Sighing, Will reached into his jacket pocket for his keys as he headed towards his car. He couldn't get to Hannibal's home quickly enough; he needed to slough off all that he'd seen and done today, and he hoped that he'd be able to do that while he was in his lover's arms.


	2. Targeted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is disconcerted to realize that he may have been targeted by a serial killer.

By the time he arrived at Hannibal's house, Will felt a little calmer, but he was still shaken. He needed to talk to Hannibal about what he had seen today, and the suspicions that had begun to grow in his mind. He needed to get those thoughts out, to make them a reality.

If he didn't talk to someone about this, he would drive himself insane. And Hannibal was the only person he really trusted, the only one he _could_ talk to.

Had anyone else even _noticed_ that the corpses piling up behind this killer all looked like him? He didn't think so. If they had, they were keeping it to themselves, probably in the hope of not upsetting him. Had they thought he somehow wouldn't notice?

Will took a deep breath, trying to steady his hands.

He shouldn't let himself get upset about this. After all, he was protected. Yes, he lived alone, but it would be easy enough to spend nights in the city after he'd fed the dogs at night and let them out for their run. He didn't have to be alone and vulnerable.

He had access to protection. He didn't have to feel as if he was a sitting duck, lined up in crosshairs. He wasn't a target. He couldn't be.

But this threat felt more real than anything he'd dealt with since he'd been working in this capacity with the FBI. This was the first time he'd seen corpses that looked so much like him; it was terrifying to think that they were nothing more than a substitute for him.

That thought was terrifying. After all the things he'd seen in his line of work, the last thing he wanted was to end up like one of the corpses he viewed nearly every day. He didn't want to think of himself as being a victim, as being one of those corpses to be stared at.

It seemed that was what this particular killer was after -- to make him one of his victims, or at least to make him feel like one. Will took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, opening the car door and getting out, then slamming it closed behind him.

He wasn't going to let himself be forced into the role of victim.

Whatever this person intended, it wasn't going to happen. He was stronger than that. He wasn't the kind of person who was going to fall apart because he realized that a killer was gunning for him. He wasn't someone who turned and ran from his fears.

If that was what this killer was expecting, then he would get a very rude awakening. He wasn't going to run away from this situation, or stop what he was doing with the FBI. He was going to find this bastard and make sure that he was put behind bars.

It might not be safe, but then, safe wasn't something that Will chose to cling to. He would take risks when he felt that those risk were worth taking to bring justice.

He was no coward, and he wasn't going to become one now. If this bastard wanted him to cower in fear and try to hide, then he wasn't going to get his wish, Will told himself firmly. He would stand tall and put up a fight -- and he would see that justice prevailed.

That thought was followed by a soft sigh and a wry smile as he bounded up the steps to Hannibal's front door. It was easy to talk like that, harder to actually follow through.

He rang the doorbell, listening for footsteps inside the house.

Will closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He wasn't going to be a babbling mess when he talked to Hannibal. He wasn't going to break down and tell the other man that he was afraid for his life. He was going to be calm, cool, and collected.

When the door opened to reveal Hannibal standing there, he tried to smile, but he knew that it was wobbly around the edges. "Hi. I thought I'd come by a little early for our session tonight. Work was kind of disturbing today. Hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," Hannibal said, stepping back so that Will could enter the house. He walked into the foyer, holding back a sigh of relief. He felt safer behind a closed door; no one could see into the dim interior of the foyer. No one could watch him in here.

Well, they could if the curtains were open in Hannibal's office, which he had no doubt they would be. They always were, in the daytime.

He wasn't going to ask Hannibal to close the curtains. That would be rude. But he wanted to. He wanted to ask Hannibal to let him hide here, without any explanations that would make him sound as though he might be going completely off his rocker.

But he couldn't do that. He had to be calm about this, to think rationally.

Hannibal led the way into his office, turning to face Will once they were both standing by his desk. "What is this all about, Will?" You look as though you've had some kind of a shock. Your eyes are a bit unfocused, and your tone is shaky. Even your hands are shaking."

Will looked down at his hands, surprised to see that Hannibal was right. They _were_ shaking; he didn't know how to make that trembling stop.

How was he going to explain this threat to Hannibal without sounding as if he was merely being paranoid? He didn't quite completely believe it himself; it felt unreal, as though it was somehow removed from him. But it was very real, and he didn't want it to get worse.

How many more people would die because the killer wasn't able to get to him? How many more men would he use as a substitute for the one he really wanted -- and how long would it be before his rage finally led him to lash out at the man he truly intended to kill?

"I ...." His voice trailed off into nothingness; he didn't know how to start this conversation, how to say what he needed to say without sounding like he was going insane. The words were there, in his head, but they refused ot come out in any kind of coherent order.

"Sit down." Hannibal led Will to the couch, waiting for the younger man to sit down before sitting beside him and turning to gaze at him. "Now, tell me. What's wrong?"

Suddenly, the words were there, pouring off his tongue.

"The corpses in this case we're working on all look like me." There. The words were out, and he didn't sound crazy. Did he? He hoped not. "I just noticed that today. It makes me feel like this killer may be targeting me, in an obscure way. And it's fucking terrifying."

"Of course it is." There was no censure or disbelief in Hannibal's voice; he merely nodded and reached out to take both of Will's hands in his own, clasping them. "This man must be caught be fore he kills again. And before he comes after you."

"Th-that's what I'm afraid of," Will whispered, letting his fear surface at last. "That he's going to come after me before we can catch him. I'm not ready to face something like that. I don't want to be the target of a killer. I've already been inside his head, and it's not a pretty place."

"I wouldn't expect it to be," Hannibal said, his tone dry. "But he _will_ be found, and in the meantime, you'll be protected. I'll make sure of that."

Just being here with Hannibal was already making him feel better. Will took a deep breath, wanting to ask his lover a question, but unable to get the words out yet again. He didn't know how to ask for what he needed, and somehow, it didn't seem like the right time.

Hannibal stood up, still holding Will's hands and pulling him to his feet as well.

"Let's go upstairs and go to bed," he said softly, his gaze riveted on Will's face. "I think you need that, Will. I think you need to be able to let everything around you go, to forget about it for a while and merely _feel_. I'm more than willing to help you do that."

Will could only nod, amazed yet again at how Hannibal almost seemed to be able to read his mind at times. That was just what he needed, some time in their own private world, a chance to push away all of the realities that he didn't want to deal with at the moment.

The threat to him was all too real, Will thought as he followed Hannibal up the stairs to the master bedroom. But he would think about that threat later. For now, he wanted to spend the night in his lover's arms, and let whatever might happen tomorrow come when it would.


	3. A Taste For Submission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will finds a good way to pass the time while he's waiting for Hannibal to come to bed.

Will let out a soft sigh as he stretched out across Hannibal's bed; he had removed his clothes quickly, eager to be naked in Hannibal's arms. But to his disappointment, the other man had left the room, excusing himself and saying the he would be back in a few minutes.

Will knew that was true; Hannibal never stayed away from him long when he was here. But why was he leaving at all? Had Will unknowingly interrupted something?

That didn't really matter, he told himself. Whatever it was that Hannibal had to do, he would take care of it and be back in this room in as short a time as possible. And then he would set about relieving Will's worry, taking him towards the stars.

He wanted Hannibal here _now_ , dammit. He didn't want to wait.

As immediately as the thought coalesced in his mind, he tried to squelch it. He knew better than to try to rush Hannibal; if he did, then the other man would more than likely turn icy and back away. He wasn't going to take that risk. Not now.

He was where he had wanted to be for so long -- in Hannibal's bed, as a permanent part of his life. Well, at least he _hoped_ it was permanent. He wouldn't have given Hannibal his virginity if he didn't think that would be the case.

Maybe Hannibal only looked at him as something transitory, as a toy to be played with and then thrown away. The thought made Will's heart sink; he swallowed hard, wishing that he could push that thought away, but knowing that it would stick with him.

If that was all he was to Hannibal, then he didn't belong here. He shouldn't have tried to continue this past that first glorious night if it didn't mean something to both of them.

He had discovered so much about himself on that night; he'd discovered that he _needed_ to be dominated, needed someone else to take control. Hannibal had been the perfect person to do just that; he hadn't been one to turn away from satiating that need.

Anyone else probably would have turned away. But not Hannibal.

Hannibal wasn't the kind of man to turn away from any sort of challenge. And that was probably how his lover saw him, Will through wryly. It had taken quite a while for him to even be able to make eye contact with the other man, and that had just been a _small_ challenge.

Getting him to let his barriers down, those inner barriers that he kept wrapped safely around himself, had been a much bigger one. One that Hannibal had been up to -- and one that he had conquered with seemingly very little effort at all.

Sighing again, Will rolled over onto his back, focusing his gaze on the door. He really shouldn't be lying here like this when Hannibal came back; his lover had already made it clear that he preferred Will to be in a more subservient position, on his stomach.

Hannibal enjoyed taking him from behind, rather than them being face-to-face. Will didn't mind that; he had thoroughly enjoyed every sexual encounter they'd had thus far.

He hadn't been expecting the bruises, but he could deal with those. He'd been shocked to discover that he had a definite taste for submission; he wasn't as independent as he'd always considered himself to be. It was a sobering realization, but one that he'd come to accept.

With anyone else, he probably wouldn't be that way. With Hannibal, it was inevitable.

Hannibal wasn't the kind of man who was _ever_ going to be subservient to anyone, Will told himself, almost wanting to laugh at the very idea. Hannibal letting anyone else get the upper hand? Pigs would sooner fly over the moon on little pink motorcycles.

Their relationship had its parameters, but Hannibal was all about breaking down barriers. Will knew that his personal boundaries were going to be pushed -- and more than likely come tumbling to the ground at some point. He was prepared for that.

The only thing that worried him was finding out just how hard Hannibal might push. His lover wasn't a man to take the word "no" at face value; he might respect it once, but if it was said too often, he wold find a way to get around it and have his way.

So far, that hadn't happened. But Will had the feeling that it was coming -- and he wasn't sure if he was wary or aroused by the prospect.

It took him a moment to realize that while he'd been thinking about his relationship with Hannibal, one hand had moved down his body -- and he was now grasping his cock, stroking himself slowly. He was already half-hard, his musings about Hannibal stirring his desire for the other man.

He closed his eyes, a soft moan slipping from his lips. He didn't want to stop.

It would feel so much better if Hannibal was touching him, of course, but touching himself always felt so _good_. It wasn't something he'd done much before he'd become involved with Hannibal, but his lover had encouraged him to explore his own body.

He had never done much of that in the past. He didn't believe in the ridiculousness of masturbation being bad for him, but at the same time, it wasn't something he'd ever been really comfortable with. His early fumblings with touching himself had always been so .... furtive.

When he was young, he'd only done it under the covers in the dead of night, and he'd felt acutally ashamed and embarrassed afterwards.

Things hadn't gotten much better when he was older. He wasn't embarrassed about it any more, but he still felt that lingering shame whenever he masturbated; it had been drummed into his head far too much that he should have a partner, rather than pleasuring himself.

Well, now he _did_ have a partner -- and that man had told him that there was absolutely nothing wrong with giving himself sexual pleasure, even when he was involved with someone. So it didn't feel as though he was doing something unacceptable.

Hannibal had freed him in so many ways.

His hand sped up, his breathing becoming shallow and disjointed. In just a few more moments, he would be gasping, possibly even moaning Hannibal's name. This wasn't the way his lover should find him, but at this point, he couldn't make himself stop.

Not that he wanted to. It felt far too good to stop now; the only way he would be able to force himself not to see this through to the rapturous end would be if Hannibal told him not to.

It wouldn't be long now, Will told himself, his breath catching in his throat as his fingers moved to the tip of his penis to tease the slit. Only a few seconds ....

He hadn't expected the door to open; he didn't realize what had happened when it did. When Hannibal stepped into the room, Will was too far gone in his own pleasure to realize that his lover was standing there watching him, a small smile curving his lips.

"I don't believe I've ever seen you look so beautiful," Hannibal murmured. "I've often wanted to ask you to do this for me, but you seem to have anticipated that desire. Please don't stop on my account, Will. I'm rather enjoying this little show."

This wasn't what he had intended to do, but he couldn't stop himself now. Will's hand moved of its own volition, his breath coming in panting gasps as he stoked himself to completion, his hips bucking up as his body spent itself over his hand.

It took a few moments for his mind to clear.

What the hell had he done? Had he actually masturbated in front of Hannibal? And had Hannibal said that he _enjoyed_ watching the show? That thought brought a burning blush to his cheeks; he wanted to turn over and bury his face in the pillows.

But, of course, he wasn't going to be allowed to do that. Not if he knew Hannibal. The other man was already approaching the bed, unbuttoning his shirt.

Will gazed up at his lover, watching Hannibal slowly undress. He couldn't help feeling that what he'd just done would spur Hannibal on to make sure they both attained great heights tonight, and he could hardly wait to find out exactly what was on Hannibal's agenda for the evening.


	4. It's No Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is a game to Hannibal.

Will stared up at Hannibal, wide-eyed. He hadn't expected his lover to come back so precipitately, and he certainly hadn't expected to be caught masturbating. But he had been, and by the smirk on Hannibal's face, this was something he'd looked forward to.

Hannibal had asked him to masturbate for him once, but Will had been too shy to do so at the time. Now, he was more used to being watched.

He didn't think he would have a hard time blocking out everything all around him and pleasuring himself if his lover asked him to do it. When he'd first been asked, it had been early in their relationship, and he hadn't known the kind of games that Hannibal liked to play then.

But this was no game. He feared for his life.

"Hannibal, this isn't a game," Will tried to protest, shaking his head. "It's not that I don't want you to watch me -- I don't think I'll have a problem with that again -- but I'm worried. And I'm scared. I don't want you to treat that like it's meaningless."

"I'm not trying to do that, Will." Hannibal came over to the bed and sat down, turning to look down at Will, his expression serious. "I know that this is no game. And I will admit, I'm worried for you, as well. I don't want this person to get anywhere near you."

"Then don't smirk at me and act like this is some game we're playing," Will said, sounding more angry than he intended to. He sighed, raising a hand to run it through his hair. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to sound short. I just .... I'm scared, Hannibal. Really scared."

Hannibal frowned, leaning close to Will and taking his face between his hands, looking into his eyes as if he could find some answer that he sought there.

"I understand that you are frightened, Will," he said softly, his voice very quiet. "I will admit that I'm worried, too. But don't think that I am treating our relationship as some game. I can assure you that I'm not. I merely want to take your mind off the situation."

Will nodded slowly; he could understand that.

Of course Hannibal didn't want him jump and nervous and tense when they were together; it made sense that his lover would try to do something to make him relax. So if Hannibal wanted to see him masturbate, then he'd gladly do it.

Maybe it would even work as Hannibal wanted it to, and take the edge off his worry. Maybe he would be able to lose himself so far into the pleasure of touching himself that he would forget about the corpses that all seemed to resemble him.

"Try not to think about it," Hannibal told him, releasing him and sitting up, still watching him. "Keep doing what you were doing. I doubt that you were finished yet."

"I wasn't," Will murmured, suddenly feeling shy and awkward. It was one thing to tell himself that he could masturbate in front of his lover, but it was another to actually _do_ it. He wasn't sure just how to go back to it; he didn't feel comfortable with the situation.

Hannibal solved that for him by taking his hand and guiding it to his cock, wrapping Will's fingers around his erection. He didn't take his own hand away; he gazed into Will's eyes, slowly guiding the young man's hand up and down his cock.

"Show me how you pleasure yourself," Hannibal whispered. "That will help me to better pleasure you in the future. It can only be good for both of us."

Will nodded, swallowing hard. He could do this.

"Close your eyes if you want to," Hannibal told him, his hand moving slowly with Will's, up and down, up and down. Will could feel the pleasure starting to gather within his stomach, could feel his balls tightening, the rhythm starting to sink in.

No, this wasn't a game. But what he was doing was pleasurable, and Hannibal was right. Sinking into that pleasure would help him to forget what he'd seen, at least for a little while -- and right now, what he needed the most was to forget.

And Hannibal's hand was on his, guiding him; Hannibal was letting him demonstrate what pleased him. He had no doubt that his lover would use that knowledge to great effect later; in retrospect, he was surprised that Hannibal hadn't asked him to do this before.

Will lay back against the pillows, closing his eyes and letting the pleasure unfurl within him. He still felt a little uncomfortable, but there was something about Hannibal's hand on his own that made him feel less exposed, and more in tune with his own body.

His hand moved slowly, tightening at the base, then moving up to the tip to rub his thumb over the sensitive slit, Hannibal's movements mirroring his own.

Now, _this_ was the kind of game he could get used to playing.

The situation he was in might not be a game, but these kinds of sexual games that Hannibal so excelled at playing were good for taking his mind off of his problems. The memories of what he'd seen that morning were fading, moving into the back of his mind.

He didn't have to focus on them. He didn't have to think about them, didn't have to remember. He could let himself sink into the pleasure that he was giving himself -- or was it being given to him? he wasn't sure -- and let everything else fade away.

His body was already tightening, on the verge of climax; he took a deep breath, concentrating on holding himself back. He wanted this to last, wanted Hannibal's hands on him for more than just a few moments. He wanted to take his time, to spin out the pleasure.

A moment later, Hannibal's hand took over for him; he dropped his own hand to his side, a moan slipping from his lips. His pleasure was given over to Hannibal now.

Hannibal knew exactly how to play his body like a violin, Will thought as the other man's hand moved up and down his shaft, doing exactly what his own hand had done. But it somehow felt so much better to be touched by his lover than it felt to touch himself.

Hannibal's hands had the power to take him to the stars.

He didn't need to concentrate on pleasuring himself now; he could simply lie back and enjoy what Hannibal was doing to him. And enjoy it he did; he felt as though his body was melting in his lover's capable hands, that touch taking him apart, then putting him back together again.

Such pleasure couldn't last for long; Will could feel himself spiraling upwards, knowing that he would come down again all too soon.

When his orgasm broke over him, the waves of pleasure seemed much stronger than anything he could have given himself. Yes, it felt good to touch himself, but even better to be touched by the man he'd given himself to, the man who knew him better than he knew himself.

As the pleasure subsided, he gazed up into Hannibal's eyes. His lover smiled back down at him, then leaned forward to brush a gentle kiss across Will's lips. "There. That didn't feel like a game to you, did it?" he asked, tilting his head to the side.

Will didn't really know what to say. With Hannibal, almost everything was a game. He knew that. But this was a game that he didn't mind playing.

But no, this hadn't really felt like a game. It had felt as though Hannibal was trying to give him some kind of protection against the disturbing thoughts that had been crowding into his mind, and Will appreciated that. He had needed to be distracted.

That had been one hell of a distraction, he told himself. One that he appreciated being given, even though he should have known that it wouldn't last for long.

"No, it didn't," he finally answered, knowing that the words weren't quite true.

However, that didn't really seem to matter. Hannibal probably knew that he was still shaken, that he wasn't really capable of holding himself together at the moment. But he'd given Will something to hold on to -- and Will was sure that he would be willing to give even more.

Hannibal bent over him once again, moving to straddle Will. He placed his hands on either side of Will's head, gazing down at him, a hungry expression on his face. Will knew what that meant. This little interlude wasn't over; it had only begun.

He certainly had no problem with that. As Hannibal's hands moved down his body, he closed his eyes, giving himself over to the moment and pushing all other thoughts from his mind.


	5. Just What He Needs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal always has the ability to give Will exactly what he needs.

"Turn over, Will." Hannibal's voice was very soft; Will could feel his body tighten in anticipation at that tone. The voice was more seductive than any he had ever heard before. All Hannibal had to do was use that soft tone, and he would respond.

Slowly, Will obeyed, turning over onto his stomach. He could feel a hand moving down his back, fingers stroking along the length of his spine.

That hand stopped just above the curve of his ass, then moved back up again, to rest on one shoulder. Then both hands began to move up his arms, until Hannibal's hands were grasping his own, twining their fingers together and squeezing gently.

"I think you need a bit of .... therapy, Will," he whispered, breath hot against Will's ear as he leaned close. "It would help to relax you."

Will nodded, gulping in air. Yes, this was what he needed.

He needed to forget that newest corpse that he'd seen today -- the corpse that looked remarkably like him. He needed to forget that there was a killer out there who was murdering young men who all seemed to have his face. He needed to forget that he might be a target.

Only Hannibal could help him forget. Only Hannibal had the power to take him away from his thoughts, to take him out of this world and into a delicious fantasy realm. No one else could give him that release, that escape that he so desperately needed.

Will held back a gasp when Hannibal's hands moved back to his wrists, tightening for a moment before they were gone as Hannibal reached for something on the bedside table.

Then those hands were on his wrists again, wrapping a long silken scarf around them, then securing his bound hands to the bedpost.

Will shivered as he pulled experimentally against the bonds. They weren't tight enough to be painful -- that would never do; Hannibal would be distressed to know that he was in serious pain -- but he definitely wasn't going to be able to pull free.

Hannibal's hands were moving down his back again, a mere whisper of touch.

He knew what was coming, and he reveled in that knowledge. He was helpless under Hannibal's hands; he would be taken, lifted outside of himself, thrown into the clouds and left to plummet back down to earth again, safely into Hannibal's arms.

He wouldn't have to think about what he had seen. He could simply let himself go, give in to the pleasure that Hannibal gave him. He wouldn't have to live in the real world for the brief time that their bodies were joined. He could simply _feel_ , not think.

This was what he needed, the distraction from reality that could make him feel sane again. Hannibal knew that, and he was holding it out as a gift.

Will accepted that gift, letting himself sink into it. With a soft sigh, he surrendered himself, mind, body and soul, to whatever Hannibal intended to do. He closed his eyes, his body relaxing under his lover's hands, ready whatever Hannibal decided to give him.

"So lovely." Hannibal's voice was soft as his hands moved back up to Will's shoulders, massaging as he went. "I can almost understand why a killer wants to take young men who look like you, Will. You _are_ ultimately desirable."

Will's body jerked at the words, his muscles going taut.

This wasn't what he wanted. He didn't want to talk about the reality of what he'd seen today, didn't want to think about it. He wanted his time with Hannibal to be an escape from that, not to remind him of it, to bring those horrible images back to his mind.

"I don't want to talk about it," Will murmured, hoping that Hannibal would respect his wishes and change the subject. "That isn't what I'm here for, Hannibal."

He didn't see Hannibal's nod, but he could sense it. "Very well, Will." The other man leaned down, his lips brushing against the nape of Will's neck. "I'll give you what you want. For tonight. But we _do_ have to discuss this at some point, you know."

Will nodded, not wanting to look up. His face was buried against the pillow; he could feel Hannibal's hands moving down to his ass, gently massaging, then reaching for the bedside table again. Will knew what he was reaching for; the thought made his body tense again.

This was what he wanted, what he _needed_. He needed to have Hannibal inside him, thrusting into him over and over again until he was lifted beyond the stars. He needed to concentrate on that, on their bodies being joined, on their togetherness.

No one else could give him that escape. Only Hannibal.

He didn't want anyone else. Nobody else had ever touched him, not in the way that Hannibal did. Nobody else had ever known his body so intimately; there had never been anyone else who could set him on fire in the precise way that Hannibal could.

Will felt Hannibal's fingers spreading him; felt the coolness of lube on his skin, then one finger slid inside him, probing, searching.

He hissed in a breath, then another when a second finger quickly joined the first. Hannibal wasn't taking his time; he was moving this ahead quickly, seemingly as impatient for their joining as Will was. His fingers probed more deeply, brushing against Will's prostate.

Will wanted more than those fingers inside him; he wanted Hannibal to be joined with him, to thrust inside him until he cried out his lover's name and begged for more, pushing his limits until he didn't think he could stand any more, breaking past his boundaries.

He _needed_ that. And he was sure that Hannibal was going to give him what he needed -- he was just taking his sweet time about doing so.

Will thought he would scream with frustration, or go insane.

When Hannibal's fingers eased out of him, to be replaced by the large, blunt head of his cock at his entrance, Will almost sighed in relief. He was finally going to get what he needed, what he had needed ever since he'd seen that disturbing sight this morning.

Then Hannibal was inside him,and he was instantly transported into another world, a word that he wanted to stay in for as long as he possibly could. It was a world of pleasure mingled with just the right amount of pain, a world where sensation took over.

All he could feel was Hannibal thrusting into him over and over again, Hannibal's hands moving down his body, Hannibal's warm breath on the back of his neck. He could hear his own soft moans, the sound mixing with Hannibal's whispering of his name.

The sensations built, until was sure that he was going to fly apart at the seams. He couldn't take much more of this; he had to let go soon.

Another thrust .... then another. He closed his eyes tightly, willing his body to hold out for just a little bit longer, to make these sensations last for just a few more moments -- and then he couldn't hold back any more, and he let himself go with a cry that was almost a sob.

It was ecstasy beyond anything he had ever imagined.

Will collapsed onto the pillows, the position pulling slightly at his bound wrists. For a while, he'd forgotten that he was bound; it was something that he'd grown used to. Hannibal liked having him helpless, for some reason, and he didn't really mind it.

Dimly, he felt Hannibal's release inside him, the warm rush as his lover came; his muscles clenched, as if his body wanted to hold Hannibal inside him for a while longer.

But all too soon, Hannibal was pulling out of him, sitting back on his heels and resting a gentle hand on Will's hip before he reached up to untie the knots in the silk scarf, freeing Will's bound wrists and allowing him to turn over onto his back.

For a few moments, he just lay there, looking up at Hannibal with a smile on his face. The pleasure was still coursing through his body; Will knew that he would be feeling the aftereffects for a while. It always took a while for that pleasure to wear off.

Hannibal smiled down at him, reaching out a hand to brush Will's damp curls back from his forehead. "Was that what you needed, Will? I think it was."

Will nodded, feeling almost too sated to speak. "Yeah, it was."

He knew that they would have to talk about the subject that he didn't want to get into, that they would have to bring it out into the open, turn it over, discuss it between themselves. But not now. For now, they could simply lie here and bask in the afterglow.

Hannibal had, yet again, given him just what he needed. If only this could last for the rest of his life; if only he could find some way to stay here in Hannibal's bedroom, locking the rest of the world away and just indulging himself in the pleasures of the flesh.

Of course, he couldn't do that. Real life awaited him; all too soon, he would have to leave this world that he and Hannibal had created for themselves behind, and go back to the world that both of them seemed to feel somewhat out of step in.

But he was here, exactly where he wanted to be. And he had been given just what he needed to restore his strength, his equilibrium. He could face the real world now.

Will closed his eyes, sinking into the relaxation of the moment. It wouldn't last for long; he was aware of that. But he would take it while he could, and postpone his return to the real world for a while. He would have to go back there far too soon to suit him.


	6. An Offer He Can't Refuse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will comes up with an idea to catch the killer he's after -- but at what cost to himself?

Will shuddered as he bent over the corpse on the floor, trying not to look at the face. He had already seen that the young man had curly dark hair, much like his own, and he didn't doubt that the face he finally saw would resemble his, as well.

How many had it been now? Seven, he told himself, shuddering again at the thought. The bodies were piling up, and they were nowhere nearer finding the killer than they'd been with the first corpse. He couldn't get any kind of breakthrough.

Try as he might, he couldn't get into this killer's mind as easily as he did others. Maybe he was just too close to the case at this point.

Or maybe it was just because all these corpses looked like him.

It was terrifying to think that he was in the sights of a serial killer. It was one thing to bring those kinds of people to justice -- it was quite another to know that a killer was running free out there somewhere, and that they had _him_ in the crosshairs.

Jack had sworn that Will would be protected, but he had never felt as vulnerable in his life as he did when he was working this case. It didn't matter that the rest of the team was around him; he felt alone, isolated, naked in the killer's sights.

He'd never felt as exposed to pure evil as he did on this case. And even though he had Hannibal to turn to, even that wasn't helping. He was having more and more sleepless nights, more nightmares, and feeling ever more panicky about catching this killer.

He had slept in Hannibal's arms last night after they'd had sex, and awoken this morning feeling a little better. But that good feeling had gone to hell.

He should have expected that.

How was he supposed to maintain any kind of balance when he saw things like this? It would be so much easier if it wasn't obvious that the killer was focused on him; even people who didn't have so much as a touch of empathy could tell that every corpse looked like him.

Seeing corpses had never really been a problem for him -- not until this. But then, the dead bodies that he'd seen before when he had been working in the field hadn't all resembled him. And this one .... Will felt faint when he looked at the battered face.

This young man looked more like him than any of the others had. He didn't doubt that he would be having nightmares about this one.

He shouldn't touch the corpse; he knew that. But something made him want to. He wanted to brush this young man's hair back out of his bruised and bloodied face, murmur to him that he was going to be avenged, that he hadn't died for nothing.

He couldn't do that, and he knew it. There was no way that he could bring any kind of comfort to this young man; he would never know why he had been killed, or maybe even who had killed him. The killer had more than likely been a total stranger to him.

Just a random killing, at least in the eyes of most people.

But to Will, it hadn't been random. Not when the killer was searching out young men who looked like him. No, it was more than obvious, at least to him if to no one else, that _he_ was the target here. The objective was his murder.

That thought struck terror into his heart -- but it made him angry at the same time. How _dare_ this killer take the lives of innocent people, when he was obviously focused on just one man? How dare he make these young men a substitute for Will?

And how dare he focus on Will in the first place? What had Will ever done to him to make him the object of such enmity?

They had to find this man, Will told himself. They had to find him before any more innocent people died, and before he zeroed in on the target he really wanted to take out his apparent raged on. They had to find him before anyone else was caught in his crossfire.

And he knew exactly how to do that.

He would have to offer himself up as bait. That was the only way to catch this killer; he was sure of it. The only thing that would bring this man out into the open was to give him an opportunity that he wouldn't be able to resist -- the ability to have what he wanted.

He wanted Will. That was obvious. So, it made sense that they should give him what he wanted in order to lure him into a trap.

Will didn't like the idea, and he knew that Jack wouldn't approve of it, either. But there didn't seem to be any other way to avoid more killing. He already felt responsible for the seven people who were dead; he didn't want more murders on his conscience.

All right, so maybe this wasn't really his fault. He couldn't have known that a serial killer was going to take an interest in him and start murdering men who looked like him. But he couldn't help feeling that in some way, all of these deaths were his fault.

He had to stop them. And if offering himself was the only way to do that, then so be it.

He would be protected, of course, Will told himself, getting to his feet and looking away from the corpse. Jack wasn't going to let him risk his life without being sure that there would be ample backup. Jack might not even go along with his plan.

Will sighed softly, wishing that he didn't have to formulate a plan like this. He didn't want to put himself in danger; this wasn't what he'd intended to do when he had first started working for the FBI. But at this point, he didn't feel as though he had any choice in the matter.

He was the only person who could stop this. If the killer wanted him, then the only way to draw him out into the open was to present him with an offer he couldn't refuse.

The thought of being the focus of someone bent on murder shook him, made him feel exposed and far too vulnerable. But if this plan worked, if they could lure this killer out and catch him, then he wouldn't have to feel like that any more.

They could catch this killer, and it would all be over.

Will swallowed hard, pushing back the rush of fear that rose into his throat, threatening to choke him. He was terrified of what could happen, but he had to face it.

What would Hannibal think? He had to talk this over with his lover, get his opinion on it. Of course, he'd probably think it was far too dangerous an undertaking, but Will's mind was already made up. He was sure that this was the only way to stop the murders.

Hannibal wasn't going to like this idea, not at all. But now that it was in Will's mind, he knew that he had to put it into action. If offering himself up as a victim would make these crimes stop, then he didn't see how he could avoid doing it.

But he wouldn't be a victim, of course. Jack wouldn't let that happen -- and neither would Hannibal, or the rest of the team. They would make sure that he was protected. No one was going to let any harm come to him. Will was sure of that.

He wouldn't be the next murder victim.

Still, it was a frightening proposition -- but it was one he had to face. If he didn't, then these killings would keep going on -- and this murderer would eventually get tired of using substitutes and come after him anyway. This would only be hastening the inevitable.

And this way, the killer would come to him on his own terms, rather than surprising him and possibly turning that confrontation into a fatal one.

Will closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he turned and left the room. He would have to run this idea by Jack, but no matter what his boss said, he was determined to put it into action and see it through. To his way of thinking, it was the only option he had left.


	7. Say Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal's silences always make Will much more uneasy than his words.

Will squirmed uncomfortably in the silence of the room; he hadn't expected Hannibal to simply sit there after he'd told him of the plan he had to capture the killer, without saying a word. This silence unnerved him, almost frightened him.

It was as though Hannibal was considering everything he had said, weighing it in his mind, thinking it all over carefully. And coming to his own conclusions.

He would probably think that Will was crazy, that he was being reckless and foolhardy to put himself at such risk. That was exactly what Jack had said -- and Jack had put his foot down. He wasn't going to let Will do something he considered so foolish.

But it would be even worse if Hannibal thought the same.

He wanted his lover to say something, anything, even if it was negative. Any words from Hannibal would open up a dialogue, and he could argue his case. But there was nothing from Hannibal but silence; Will felt more uncomfortable by the second.

What if Hannibal thought that this plan was far too dangerous? What if he decided to tell Jack that Will was becoming a danger not only to himself, but to others as well? He could very well do that; Will could be pulled off this case without further notice.

Hannibal wasn't technically his psychiatrist; he only saw Will as a patient to do him a favor, to try to keep him focused and on the right track. There were times when he felt that his sessions with Hannibal were the only thing that kept him from going off the rails.

But at times like this, when Hannibal was completely silent and he had no idea what the other man was thinking, he was almost afraid. He was terrified of what Hannibal might think of him, in his professional capacity as an FBI agent as well as in the personal sense.

All he wanted was for Hannibal to say something, to break the silence.

When he finally did, the words were what Will had expected to hear. "This isn't a good idea, Will," he said, his tone very soft. "Baiting a trap is one thing. But baiting it with yourself? That is foolish. You could very well end up getting yourself killed."

"I know that." Will shook his head impatiently, glad that the silence had finally been breached and he could speak again. "But this job doesn't come without some risks."

"I won't allow you to risk yourself for your job, Will." Hannibal's frown darkened his face; he leaned towards Will, his gaze focused on the young man. "I would not be able to bear it if anything happened to you. And I believe that I have some say in this matter."

Will nodded, silently agreeing.

He waited for Hannibal to speak again, wondering what he would say.


	8. Win Or Lose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is determined to go through with his plan to capture a killer - even if Hannibal disagrees with him.

Will sat still, his senses coiled tightly, waiting for whatever Hannibal would say about his plan. He knew that it wasn't the safest thing for him, but he didn't know what else to do.

He _had_ to catch this killer. If he didn't, then more young men who looked like him would die, and their faces would keep haunting his dreams as well as his waking hours. He didn't want to leave this case unsolved and live the rest of his life with those images.

Hannibal sighed softly, lifting his gaze to Will's face.

"Will, do you realize just how dangerous it is for you to use yourself as bait for this killer?" he asked, his voice very soft. "Do you not know that it's _you_ this man wants? He's proven that by killing men who resemble you."

"Yes, I know that," Will said in a choked voice. "Do you think I haven't considered that, Hannibal? I'm not taking this lightly. I'm scared to death. But I don't want to keep being haunted by these deaths and feeling responsible for them, either. And I do."

Hannibal raised his brows, frowning at Will's words. "Why do you feel responsible, Will? This isn't your fault. It's the fault of the man committing the crimes."

"I know that." Will shook his head, feeling frustrated at his inability to convey how he felt through words. "But I .... I feel like it's somehow my fault that he's doing this. That there's something about me that's under his skin, that's making him do this."

Hannibal was regarding him soberly, silently.

"You may be right about that, but it still doesn't put you at fault for the murders," he said quietly, shaking his head. "You have to give up that notion, Will. You can't blame yourself for the killer's actions in every case you take on. Not with the gift that you have."

Will sighed, nodding in agreement. "I know I can't. But this one hits close to home, Hannibal. They all look like me. That's ..... it's terrifying."

"I can understand that, Will." Hannibal stretched his hand across the table, taking Will's fingers in his own and bending them back and forth gently. It was a gesture that he made when he seemed to be particularly worried about Will in some way.

"But what I can't understand is you choosing to try to sacrifice yourself." Hannibal's dark eyes were on his face again, as if the other man's gaze was inexorably drawn to him. "You have to remember that it isn't just you who's concerned with this. Not any more."

What did Hannibal mean by that?

The meaning hit Will in just a few seconds. Hannibal meant that he wasn't alone in this; he didn't only have himself to consider now. Hannibal meant that because the two of them were together, a couple, he had to take Hannibal's feelings into account, as well.

"I know you have a say in this," Will said, keeping his voice soft. "I'm not shutting you out. But in the end, it's _my_ decision, Hannibal. It has to be."

How could he make Hannibal understand? This wasn't anyone else's decision to make. They could give him their opinions, express their feelings, but in the end, _he_ was the one who had to make the choice of whether to pursue this plan or not.

Because he was the only one who could do it.

And because all of these young men who had been killed looked like _him_. They had all somehow become surrogates for him in this killer's twisted mind, and Will _knew_ that there would be more killings until the murderer had what he wanted.

He wanted a chance at Will. He wanted to get to his ultimate victim, to make Will his prey. The only way to stop him was to give him what he wanted most.

He wasn't stupid, Will told himself firmly. He wasn't going to sacrifice himself to this madman. He'd be kept safe; he would have backup all around him. He wasn't going to walk into some kind of trap alone. He was a lot smarter than that, and so were the people he worked with.

No one was going to leave him unprotected. Jack would make sure of that. His boss might only care about him as a tool to help solve crimes, but Jack wouldn't want to lose him. Not this way. Jack would make sure he had all the protection he needed.

This was the only way. They all knew that.

If they were going to catch this killer, they had to take some risks. And Will was willing to take the biggest risk of all, if it would put this bastard behind bars for good.

The risks to himself seemed minimal compared to the good they would do if they caught this killer. And he wasn't going to be alone, he told himself again. He would be protected. He would be safe. The risk involved was outweighed by the probable outcome.

They really had no choice. _He_ had no choice. No matter what Hannibal said, he had to do this. Win or lose, no matter what it did to their relationship in the long run, he had to go through with this, even if his lover might disapprove.

"Please, Hannibal," he whispered, his voice strained. "I _have_ to do this."

After what seemed like an eternity, Hannibal nodded, then sighed. "I know you do, Will," he said, his voice sounding soft -- and a little defeated. "I will not stop you."

In a way, he had _wanted_ Hannibal to stop him, to put up more of an argument. But if he had, then Will would have found a way to override him. Because, at the heart of the matter, he would feel responsible for this unless he managed to put a stop to it.

He was the only one who could do this, and he knew it. Everyone around him knew it. They might be afraid for him, but they weren't going to stop him. They knew that they couldn't. There was really no use in anyone trying; his mind was already made up.

Win or lose, he was going to see this through to the bitter end.

"Thank you, Hannibal," he said quietly, meaning every word he was saying. "I know this isn't easy for you. But it's something I've got to do. I've got to take the risk. If I don't, it'll haunt me forever. And I may never be able to forgive myself for running away."

Hannibal gazed at him, his fingers tightening on Will's hand. Will squeezed the other man's hand, wishing that he could convey his feelings with words, but knowing that a touch would have to do. He hoped that the touch would be enough -- at least until he could find the right words.


	9. What He Doesn't Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Will doesn't know won't hurt him.

He was not pleased with this development. Not pleased at all.

Hannibal stared at the door to his office long after Will had left and gone home to Wolf Trap for the evening. He had told his young lover that this probably wasn't the best night for them to spend together, as he had an early morning, and more than one patient to see tomorrow.

That had been a lie, of course. He hadn't wanted Will to see how agitated he was, and to guess that there was something more than disapproval coursing through him in regards to Will's plan to offer himself up as bait for a serial killer.

He couldn't tell Will all that he knew about the killings. If he did, then he would find himself behind bars, no matter how much Will loved him.

No, he couldn't take that risk. Will would never understand -- and neither would anyone else. He would simply be looked at as a cold-blooded killer; no one would be able to fathom his reasons behind what he had done. They might even fear for Will's life.

He would never hurt Will. _Never._

Killing those other men had never been because he wanted to take Will's life, and killing them had kept him from doing so. No. He had done it to _protect_ Will. He had hated those other men for their physical resemblance to his love, that was all.

How _dared_ they look like Will in any way? How dared they try to be Will? They had no right to be on this earth, to taint his love with their similar looks.

Will was an individual, the one and only. No one else had a right to look like him in any way. No one else had a right to try to be anything like him. Hannibal wanted to preserve the unique beauty that was the Will Graham he knew and loved.

He wouldn't let anyone infringe on Will's existence.

No one would understand his reasoning. No one else could possibly know what it was like to realize that there were others out there who resembled the man he loved, making people think that Will wasn't unique and special. Hannibal couldn't have that.

Just the fact that they resembled Will in build or coloring was enough to make Hannibal want them gone. He wanted no one to look anything like Will, to remind other people of Will. His lover was _his_ , and no one else should even think of him.

At least, not in the way that Hannibal thought of him. That seductive, abandoned of Will should be a side of him that no one else even guessed existed.

He hated the thought that anyone could take away from what he considered to be Will's unique qualities, a beauty that only he could encompass. That was why he'd had to kill those men. They had looked too much like Will, reminded him too much of the man he loved.

Others would say that it was obsession, not love.

And others would probably fear for Will's life if they knew just how much Hannibal loved him, the lengths to which Hannibal would go to ensure that Will's uniqueness was preserved, and that no one else could even remind anyone of the young man.

Those people would be wrong, he told himself firmly. He would give his life to make sure that no harm came to Will, if that was eventually required. But he could not live in a world that didn't contain Will Graham. He would never harm Will in any way.

Maybe others would see his love, his desire, as being harmful to Will. But Hannibal refused to believe that. He was _saving_ Will. Not hurting him.

Anyone who thought that he was bad for Will would be summarily dispatched, especially if they intimated to Will that his relationship wasn't healthy. He would never let anyone talk Will into believing that the two of them shouldn't be together.

Will was his. Will would be his for all of their lives, and beyond.

He wasn't going to let anyone take Will from him -- or take him from Will, for that matter. They were going to be together, through all that life could throw at them. He would make sure of that. Anyone who tried to come between them would be dealt with.

The problem now, it seemed, was that Will himself -- unknowingly, of course -- was trying to come between them. He was trying to catch a killer, without realizing who that killer was.

If Will knew that it was _him_ who had sent all of those young men away from this realm of being, then his love could turn to repugnance. And Hannibal couldn't have that. He couldn't let Will have any kind of inkling that he was the one behind this.

He wasn't going to take the chance of being discovered. So no matter how many times Will put himself out there as bait for a killer, no matter how hard he worked to catch this man -- he wouldn't be found. He wasn't going to go after Will, to put his lover's life at risk.

The killer would simply not take the bait.

It would be horribly frustrating for Will, of course. Hannibal almost felt sorry for him; he would feel that he was risking his life, that he was doing something incredibly dangerous, when there would be no danger for him at all. He would never be a target.

Will wouldn't be disappointed, Hannibal was sure of that. He knew his young lover well enough to know that Will was terrified of the plan he had concocted.

In a way, he wished that he could assure Will that he would be in no danger, that the killer would never lay a hand on him. But of course, he could never do that; he couldn't let Will have any idea that his own lover _was_ the killer he was so desperately searching for.

He was sure that knowledge would turn Will's love to hatred.

Well, maybe not hatred, he amended, but surely it would tear the two of them apart as nothing else could. And he would never let that happen. He would never lose Will; that was unthinkable. Will Graham was _his_ , and always would be.

He was never going to let Will go. And he was never going to give Will a reason for wanting to leave. He would continue to get rid of anyone who resembled Will, to protect the uniqueness of the man he loved. It was simply something he had to do.

Will would never know. He would make sure of that. This killer would never be caught, even though that would distress Will greatly.

His boyfriend would simply have to deal with the fact that this killer wouldn't be caught -- and that men who looked like him would continue to die. He would never catch the culprit, and he would never find out why this was happening. It would haunt him, but that couldn't be helped.

What Will didn't know wouldn't hurt him. It would keep him alive.


	10. Quiet Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will comes to the conclusion that maybe his plan to catch a killer wasn't so great after all.

He was going to see this through to the bitter end.

Will heaved a sigh as he sat down at the table in one of Baltimore's many cafés, hoping that this time, a man who could be the killer he was trying to draw out might approach him. This was the fourth night, and so far, there had been no sign of anyone.

Jack was only going to let him do this for ten days. Will thought that he might be able to squeeze two weeks out of him, but that would be it. Time was going by rapidly, and so far, there had been no sign that the killer was going to show himself.

He'd been so sure that if they gave this bastard what he wanted -- namely, him -- he would come out front and center, and they would have him.

But that hadn't happened. All he'd done was make himself conspicuous, walking around to cafés and bookshops, breaking his normal routine to put himself in a position to be either approached or attacked -- whichever the killer decided to do.

It was getting to him already.

He had been tense and keyed up for the past few days before this had started, and now that he was putting himself in a dangerous position, he was even more so. It was hard not to jump at shadows, and to appear nonchalant. But so far, he was managing.

He couldn't look nervous, Will reminded himself. If he did, then that would alert the killer. Hell, he probably already thought that something was off-kilter, considering that Will wasn't sticking to his usual routines. Maybe this had been a bad idea.

But he'd thought it was so perfect. It made sense for him to break routine; anyone would be nervous and tense if they thought a killer might be after them.

It shouldn't seem unusual for him to be staying in the city; after all, he would be shaken and nervous at the thought of being watched by a murderer. There was no use trying to pretend that he didn't realize he was the ultimate target; that had already been proven.

This killer was smart. He had to know that Will had figured things out.

Will glanced around, quickly searching the café for anyone who might fit the description he had in his mind. He didn't know what this man looked like, but he was looking for a _type_ of person. One who could be innocuous, non-threatening, even benevolent.

This wasn't going to be allowed to go on for too long. He knew that. Jack would pull him out of here if he thought the plan wasn't working, and they would lose their best chance of catching this creep. That chance was already starting to look slim.

Will sighed softly, wishing that he would be approached by someone who could conceivably be the man they were looking for. Anything to bring this to an end.

Well, not a deadly end. No, he wanted to keep himself safe. There were people around to assure that he was protected, of course. He could see two other agents in the café, and another one outside on the sidewalk. He wasn't alone.

"Hello, Will." The voice surprised him; his head jerked up, his blue eyes widening.

Hannibal stood there by the table, his brows raised as if he was questioning whether or not he was welcome to sit down. Will waved a hand, indicating the chair across the table from him. "Hi, Hannibal." His voice was quiet, resigned. "Looks like this plan is a bust."

Hannibal sat, unbuttoning his coat before leaning forward. "I thought it would be. Will, this is too dangerous for you. I think it needs to stop. Now."

Will sighed, not wanting to admit that Hannibal was probably right. Though he didn't agree about the danger so much any more, given that the killer seemed to be smart enough to know that this was a trap and not to show himself. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"You don't believe you're in danger." Hannibal's tone was flat; the words weren't up for discussion. He had merely said them to indicate that he knew how Will felt; they hung in the air between them, almost like a challenge that Will wanted to refute.

He shrugged, uncertain of just what to say. "It doesn't look like I am."

"But you don't know that." Hannibal's gaze caught his; those dark eyes were mesmerizing. He couldn't look away; it was as though Hannibal held him in some indefinable grip. It is time for this to be over, Will. You aren't going to catch your killer this way."

"You might be right about that." Will was surprised to hear the quiet resolution in his own voice. "But I _will_ catch him, Hannibal. I have to."

"To placate your own sense of self-preservation?" Hannibal's brows rose; there was disbelief in his voice. "I don't believe that this is just about bringing justice to the young men who were slain, Will. This is more to do with you, rather than with them."

Will bit his lip, looking down at his hands in his lap. He couldn't refute what Hannibal said; it was more or less the truth. This wasn't so much about the young men who had been killed; it was about the fact that they looked like him, that he was the ultimate target.

It suddenly felt as though he was putting himself before them.

"So what do you suggest I do, Hannibal?" he asked, finally looking, spreading his hands out to his sides in a gesture of supplication. "Just walk away from this, pretend that I'm not scared for myself and that I don't care about what's happening to guys who look like me?"

Hannibal's brows drew together in a frown; slowly, he shook his head, sighing as he did so. "You can't walk away, Will. I know that. I don't have any easy answers for you."

"I guess we should stop looking for him like this," Will conceded with a sigh. "He's got to know we're on to him, and that I'm trying to catch him by being bait in a trap. I should have thought this out more carefully. He knows that this isn't my regular routine."

"Ah, but he should also think that you're agitated and worried," Hannibal pointed out. "It wasn't a bad plan, Will. Not at all. But this man is not your garden-variety criminal. You will have to think outside the box to catch him. And quite truthfully, I don't believe he can be caught."

Will clenched his fists, feeling frustrated.

Hannibal was probably right. This man wasn't going to be caught easily -- and certainly not by a plan as transparent as this one. This had been a mistake; it wasn't working, and he should have seen that from the first night. They would have to start back at square one.

He finally sighed and nodded, looking at the man sitting across the table from him. "You're right. This isn't the way. And maybe we won't catch him."

Will's voice became stronger as he continued speaking. "But I'm going to keep trying. Not just to find some justice for the people he's killed, but so I can feel like I don't have to look over my shoulder all the time. I'm not going to live in fear."

He could hear the quiet resolution in his own voice; he meant every word he said. Hannibal smiled, reaching out to take his hand. He could feel the strength in his lover's grasp; it told him that Hannibal was there for him, and that he approved of the decision Will had made.

It was the right decision. But he still felt as though he had somehow let himself down.

He couldn't let himself feel that way, Will told himself firmly. He had to believe that this wasn't the right way to catch this killer, and that he could find some other way to bring the man to justice. But it wasn't going to be easy; that had already been proven.

Will squared his shoulders, giving Hannibal's hand a slight squeeze. Somehow, he would find a way. He couldn't help but think that his future depended on it.


	11. In Harm's Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will has to concede that his plan to use himself as bait for a killer wasn't well thought out.

Okay, so maybe putting himself in harm's way hadn't been the best solution.

Will ran a hand through his hair, sighing as he collapsed onto his living room couch. That was probably the best way to look at his failed plan to catch this killer, though he couldn't help feeling resentful and even angry that it hadn't turned out well.

The killer was still out there. No, he hadn't killed any more young men, but he hadn't been caught, either. And Will was convinced that he _would_ kill again.

it worried him that, for some reason, he couldn't quite touch this killer's mind.

That shouldn't be something to worry about, he told himself with an inward snort. That should be a cause for relief. This was one mind he didn't want to get too close to -- especially since it seemed to be so focused on him as a potential victim.

Still, if that was the case, then why hadn't the man shown himself in some way in the seven days that Will had put himself out there as a target?

There hadn't been anyone who could have been the killer. No one could hide themselves that well, or be so innocuous; if anyone had focused on Will, the agents who were around to protect him would have noticed. But there had been no one.

Seven days, and Jack had shut down the operation.

Will didn't blame him for doing so; the plan obviously wasn't working, and he was almost sorry that he'd been so insistent on carrying it out. But at least no other men had died during that week; maybe that was something he could feel proud of.

He was certainly grateful for that fact. He didn't want to feel that he'd caused the killer to focus on anyone else; he didn't want to be responsible for anyone's death.

But he was, wasn't he? As long as he let this go on without catching the bastard, then he was indirectly responsible for what was happening. He couldn't deny that, as much as he might want to. This man would keep killing until he got what he wanted.

And the killer wanted him.

A shudder through Will's body at the thought; he wasn't going to simply turn himself over to a killer, that was for certain, but it might be the only way to resolve this and catch the man. He couldn't do something like that on his own, though, and Jack wouldn't agree to it.

No, he'd already botched up one plan. Jack wasn't going to give him the opportunity to do it again. He had used up his one chance to implement a course of action.

He should have thought things through more, he berated himself. He should have considered all of the angles, instead of simply rushing into things head first. He should have realized that making himself the bait in a trap would be far too obvious.

Well, it was done now, and it was too late to turn back the clock.

As much as he might want to change what had already happened, he couldn't. He would simply have to live with the fact that his plan had failed.

Still, he had been so sure that the killer would take the bait. Will frowned, going back over the last week in his mind. It had seemed so perfect. The killer wanted him, so they would give him what he wanted -- and they would catch him.

Why hadn't it worked?

He didn't know why. Maybe he would never knew, Will told himself, sighing softly. But it was obvious that the killer was one step ahead of them, maybe even several steps. He'd been too smart to take such obvious bait; they'd underestimated him.

He should have known that would happen. He should have realized that putting himself in harm's way wasn't the answer, and that they would need to be far more sneaky, more insidious. He hadn't gotten far enough into this killer's mind; he needed to delve deeper.

That was something he didn't particularly want to do. But he had no choice.

He might have to put himself in harm's way again, but he hoped that wouldn't happen. He hoped that he could catch this killer just by getting more deeply into his mind.

Somehow, Will knew that it would be the hardest thing he'd ever had to do.


	12. Drawing A Blank

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will has never been unable to get inside a killer's mind before.

There were times when he really hated his work.

Will got to his feet, not wanting to look down at the body in front of him. He didn't want to get into this killer's mind, didn't want to remind himself that all of the men who were being murdered resembled him. He wanted to forget that fact, push it out of his mind.

But he couldn't. The horror of that fact stayed with him; he couldn't simply press a key and delete it, have the screen of his mind go blank.

No, that would be far too easy.

He turned away, walking out of the room. He'd already done what he had to do, already been through all of the rigmarole of getting into the killer's mind. At least, he had tried. He always seemed to run into a brick wall in this case; he could get only so far, and no further.

It was almost as though the killer was going out of the way to shut him out.

That wasn't really surprising, as it was obvious that the killer didn't want to be discovered. But he'd never been so thoroughly locked out of anyone's mind before.

No killer had ever been able to do this, to shield himself so completely. It was as though his mind had been completely blank when he was killing these men.

No, he didn't believe that. The killer simply wanted to hide himself completely.

And the best way for him to hide was to clear his mind during the killings, so that Will could get nothing from them. It was proving to be a very effective strategy; he could get nothing from he crime scenes, no matter how hard he tried. He kept drawing a blank.

Will was sure that he'd never been so frustrated in his life.

This was what he hated the most about his work, he reflected as he slowly pulled off the latex gloves he'd been wearing. Not being able to do it properly.

Somehow, he had to find a way into the mind of this killer. If he could find even one crack in the veneer that he could slide through, that would do it. Then he would be able to start figuring out exactly what this guy's agenda was -- hopefully before anyone else died.

Before the killer managed to paint him into a very dangerous corner.


	13. Getaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will needs to take some time away from his work before he has a complete breakdown.

He really needed a vacation.

Will sat back in his chair, rubbing at his eyes. He had just woken up; this was the second time in three days he'd fallen asleep here in his office, trying to get some papers graded for his students. He was working himself into the ground. 

He needed some rest, some peace and quiet. Most of all, he needed some _sleep_.

But he didn't see that happening any time soon, not with the burden that Jack was putting on him to find the killer who was murdering men that resembled him. There was more and more pressure from Jack every day, pressure that amounted to veiled threats.

 _Find this killer, or you no longer have a job._ That was pretty much what Jack's constant harping amounted to. And it wasn't helping.

Of course, even if he could never catch this killer and Jack didn't want him to keep doing field work, he'd still have a job. He'd still be a teacher at the FBI Academy. Jack couldn't take that away from him, no matter how much he might want to.

He'd proven his worth as a professor. That, at least, was safe.

What he wanted to do was to put all of this behind him for a while, get away somewhere that Jack couldn't get in touch with him, where he could forget about all of it. Only for a while. He would eventually return to it, but right now, he desperately needed an escape.

He wasn't going to be allowed to have that escape, and he knew it. Jack would keep pushing until he came up with results -- or until he was excluded from field work.

Why did he care so much? It wasn't like he'd asked for this.

He hadn't asked for Jack Crawford to pull him out of his comfortable, safe classroom and have him working in the field. He hadn't asked to look at dead bodies every day and try to get inside the heads of killers. He hadn't wanted this.

But now that he was in the middle of it, he felt an obligation to the people whose bodies he viewed after the life had been stolen from them. He couldn't simply turn away.

Especially to the men who had been murdered because they looked like him.

They had done nothing wrong. They had committed no crime. They had been killed because of _him_ , because they were unfortunate enough to share some physical traits with him. And he couldn't help but feel horribly guilty about that fact.

No, it wasn't his fault that they'd been killed, but it might as well be. If he hadn't somehow attracted this killer's attention, all of those young men would still be alive.

So, in a way, it _was_ his fault. And it was his responsibility to catch this killer, to ensure that no more men who looked like him would be killed. Every time this killer took another victim, it only added to the guilt that was already heaped on him.

He needed to get away from all of this. Just for a few days.

Jack would never consent to him taking a vacation, of course. But this was something he _needed_ , before he went completely out of his mind. He couldn't keep pushing himself at the rate he had been without expecting something within him to break down.

Somehow, he had to talk Jack into this. He had to let the tension seep out of him, before he became so tightly strung that he snapped.

Jack had to understand that. And if he didn't, well, then that was his tough luck.

He _would_ take a vacation. He'd get away from all of this, push it into the back of his mind. He'd spend some time alone -- or maybe with Hannibal, if his lover would condescend to spend a few days alone with him in Wolf Trap.

Yes, that was it. That would be perfect. Time with Hannibal, for the two of them alone. Will pushed back his chair, reaching for his briefcase. He would go to Jack now and tell him that he needed to get away, and he wouldn't take no for an answer.

Jack might not like the idea, but he'd have to accept it. If he didn't want his wind-up automaton to break under his pressure, then he had no choice.

He needed this. More than he had ever needed anything in his life.


	14. A Few Quiet Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will wants to spend some quiet vacation time alone with Hannibal.

"So what do you think?" Will asked, leaning forward eagerly and watching Hannibal across the table. He had just told the other man that he intended to take a vacation, and he wanted to gauge just what Hannibal's reaction to the words would be.

If it was favorable, he had another question to put to his lover -- one that he wasn't at sure of the answer to. But he had to ask, no matter what Hannibal might say.

He didn't want to go off somewhere by himself, or spend a week alone at home. No, he wanted to be with Hannibal, no matter whether he took a vacation away from the immediate area, or simply stayed at his own home for a few days without coming into the city.

It just remained to ask Hannibal if he would come along.

Will wasn't sure what Hannibal would think about spending a week or so at his house in Wolf Trap; he didn't think that was the doctor's style, but he would ask anyway. And if Hannibal wasn't amenable to that, then he'd suggest the two of them taking a trip.

Either way, if he was going to take a vacation of some kind, he wanted to spend it with Hannibal. He didn't want to leave his lover behind. It would feel too lonely.

There was a part of him that balked at that idea; wasn't the idea of taking a vacation to get away from all the things that put stress on him in his daily life?

But Hannibal didn't stress him out -- at least, not most of the time. Yes, there were times when they could be argumentative, and when their relationship could be a bit strained. But it was like that with any couple -- or at least, Will _thought_ that it was.

It wasn't like he'd had any other relationships to compare this one to.

He took a deep breath, opening his mouth to speak and then closing it again when he realized that his lover was looking at him oddly. "You know that I'm going to ask you something that's important to me, don't you?" he asked instead, tilting his head to the side.

Hannibal nodded, his smile wry. "You are getting rather good at reading me, Will," he said, raising his glass in a toast. "Perhaps too good."

"I'm not trying to read you," Will protested, shaking his head. "I just wanted to ask you something that I'm not sure you'd agree to. I'm .... a little hesitant to ask."

"Please ask me." This time, it was Hannibal's turn to tilt his head, his gaze curious. "If I don't agree to what it is you plan to propose, then perhaps we can discuss your idea and come to some sort of agreement. A relationship is, after all, built on compromise."

Will nodded. That was certainly true; he couldn't refute those words.

Taking another deep breath, he focused on his hands, clasped on the table in front of him. He couldn't look Hannibal directly in the eye. Not yet.

"I need to take a vacation," he began, choosing his words carefully. "Just for a week or so. I need to get away from all the stress I'm dealing with at work. I got the okay from Jack, and I want to spend the time at home in Wolf Trap. I'd like it if you stayed there with me."

Hannibal was silent for a few moments, looking down into his coffee cup, as though he was mulling over what Will had just said. Will could feel the familiar gnawing in his stomach, the roiling that he knew wasn't going to go away until Hannibal gave him an answer.

"I would have to inform all of my patients that I would be gone for a week, but that wouldn't be so hard for me to do," Hannibal finally said. "Yes, Will, I'll stay with you."

Will was sure that he could feel his heart jump into his throat.

"Y-You will?" He couldn't keep the astonishment out of his voice; he'd expected this to be much harder than it had been. He had thought that he'd have to argue with Hannibal, convince him that he, too, was in need of a vacation, a getaway from the busy city.

"Of course I will." Hannibal smiled at him, a smile that almost made him want to cry. He hadn't expected to see a smile like that, not on Hannibal's face.

He knew that they shared intimacies, but he hadn't thought that Hannibal loved him. Cared for him, yes, but love? That wasn't something he expected from anyone.

That smile made him feel that he was indeed loved -- and that Hannibal wanted to protect him. It spoke of their intimacies of the past, and more to come in the future. It was a secret smile, a smile just for him, a smile that touched his heart.

It was a smile he wanted to see every day and night for the rest of his life.

"I was actually thinking of taking a trip somewhere, if you'd rather do that than spend a few quiet days in Wolf Trap," he offered, still cautious about what he was saying. "If you think you'd be bored there, we could always find some place we'd both like to visit."

Hannibal shook his head, soft laughter coming from his throat. "No, Will, I do not believe that I will be bored in Wolf Trap. After all, you will be there."

"I don't know if you'll like fishing, or just sitting around quietly," Will began, suddenly worried as to his ability to keep Hannibal from being bored. "But I --"

His lover leaned across the table, reaching out a hand to place one finger against Will's lips, silencing him. Will looked at him, blue eyes beseeching; he hoped that Hannibal would tell him that there was nothing for him to worry about, that he would enjoy spending a week in Wolf Trap.

Hannibal smiled again, this time looking almost .... wolfish.

"Will, you don't have to worry," Hannibal said, his voice very soft. "I will be perfectly content to spend a few quiet days with you. We can both get away from our work, and spend some time .... discovering each other. I think it will be a pleasant experience for us both."

"I think so, too," Will murmured, resisting the urge to take Hannibal's finger into his mouth. There was plenty of time for that later.

A week. He would have a vacation from all the stress in his life, and he would have Hannibal with him. This couldn't have gone better if he'd planned it out carefully. Will couldn't hold back a smile as he contemplated the days to come. He was sure that each one would be memorable indeed.


	15. Not What We Seem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will knows that people aren't always what they seem - least of all the enigmatic man who's become his lover.

"I didn't think you'd really like being out here," Will told Hannibal as the two of them sat side by side on the front steps of his house, watching the sun go down. "You just don't seem like the kind of person who would have an affinity for the country."

"I would not have thought that you would enjoy living here, either," Hannibal told him, raising his brows. "Never judge a person solely by first impressions, Will."

"I wasn't judging by first impressions," Will protested, shaking his head. "I was going by the things I've found out about you since we got to know each other."

"Since we've become lovers, you mean?" Hannibal laughed softly, shaking his head. "Don't presume that you know me as well as you think you do, Will. Very few of us are what we seem, and I doubt that you could ever know me completely."

Will was silent for a while, digesting his lover's words.

"That's pretty much true of everybody, isn't it?" he finally asked. "We never know anybody completely, not even ourselves. There's always something new to discover, even when you think you know a person inside out. That's what makes relationships so complicated."

Hannibal nodded, glancing over at his young lover. "You, for example, are a mass of contradictions. I doubt that I will ever know you as well as I would like to."

Will laughed at that, a little uneasily. "You know me better than anybody else ever has," he pointed out. "You're the only person I've ever trusted enough to get close to."

"Ever since we first met, I've noticed that you don't let yourself trust others," Hannibal said, his tone almost conversational. "I know that we aren't having any actual sessions while we're here, but if you'd like to talk about that, I am always ready to listen."

Will nodded, wondering if talking about his issues would be a good thing.

Why not? he asked himself. There was no reason not to. After all, he and Hannibal weren't just on the level of doctor and patient. They had passed that quite a while ago, when they'd become lovers. Though he wasn't sure that was the word he would use.

There were times when Hannibal seemed less of his lover and more of a .... master. He hated to use that word, but it was the only one that fit.

He didn't ask how high when Hannibal told him to jump; he didn't snap to attention when Hannibal barked an order. That wasn't the kind of relationship they had. But he was still attentive to Hannibal's desires; he tried not to do anything that would let his lover down.

He obeyed. And Hannibal was the one in charge, in control.

Their relationship might look odd to others, but it felt comfortable to him. He was in control of himself, of his feelings, his needs, at every other point in his life. Only with Hannibal could he let go of that control, let someone else take over for him.

It hadn't been easy to do that at first, but now it felt like second nature. He didn't know why, but being able to relinquish that control was a huge relief.

No, he wasn't at all what he seemed, just as Hannibal had said. To everyone else, he probably looked like someone who was always in control, someone who was calm and quiet and collected. They didn't know what it was like to be him, to deal with all of the pressures he faced.

He would never let anyone but Hannibal see what it was like.

Hannibal was so right; very few people he'd ever met were what they seemed once he got to know them better. Which was one reason that he never really went out of his way to get to know anyone better, Will thought with a grimace.

The man sitting here beside him was the only person he'd really wanted to get to know for a long time. And he knew Hannibal better than anyone else did.

At least, he thought so. Hannibal certainly knew _him_ better than any person ever had, both mentally and physically. Especially physically.

The thought brought a blush to Will's cheeks. He'd never let anyone else know him physically. He hadn't really saved himself for the right person; he had just never met anyone that he wanted to give himself to fully, his body as well as his trust, before Hannibal had come into his life.

He had never regretted that decision. And he never would.

"I _do_ enjoy being here, Will," Hannibal said softly, his voice bringing Will out of his thoughts and back into the present moment. "But I believe that's more due to the company than to any liking I might have for, shall we say, exploring the pleasures of nature."

"I'm glad you do," Will answered, his voice very soft. "Because I enjoy having you here. You can think of this as another home."

"And you can think of my house in Baltimore as your second home," Hannibal told him with a smile. "You certainly spend enough of your time there."

Will could only smile at that, knowing that Hannibal's words were true. Yet he had never thought that his lover would want him to consider that house as a home. Indeed, people weren't always what they seemed -- especially this enigmatic man sitting here beside him.

He wondered just what else he would discover about Hannibal before this vacation was over.


	16. Love and Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will loves Hannibal with all of his heart, but complete trust is another matter entirely.

"It's good to feel that you trust me enough to invite me into your home while you're on vacation, Will." Hannibal's voice was quiet, matter-of-fact. "There are times when I wonder if you've given me your complete trust, but this tells me that you have."

"Of course I have." Will looked up at his lover, surprised by Hannibal's words. "Why wouldn't I trust you? I've got no reason not to."

In fact, Hannibal was the one person in his life who he _did_ completely trust, he mused silently. There was no one else who had ever managed to gain his trust; even Jack hadn't done that. Will still doubted his motives and felt distanced from him.

He supposed that was normal, in a way; after all, Jack was his boss. They didn't need to have any kind of close personal relationship.

With Hannibal, it was completely different. Hannibal was his lover, the man he'd give his heart to. And he knew that it was impossible to love where he didn't trust. If he couldn't say that he trusted Hannibal in every way, utterly and completely, then he wasn't really in love.

He _did_ love Hannibal. He had no doubts about that.

Trust was so much harder than love, Will thought to himself, glancing over at Hannibal. It wasn't that he didn't trust this man; he did, in some ways. In all of the ways that mattered .But he wasn't sure that he'd given his complete trust. Not yet.

As much as he loved Hannibal, trust was something that he'd always struggled with. Will wasn't sure that he'd ever trusted anyone in his entire life.

Those trust issues had put up a lot of barriers between him and the rest of the world, but for the most part, Will liked it that way. No one could scale those walls, or get behind them; no one could see inside his head, or inside his soul.

No one could get to him. He was safe behind those walls, and he could keep himself protected. His fears were locked outside, kept at bay.

Until Hannibal had burst into his life and systematically begun to make those walls crumble to the ground. He'd never known anyone like Hannibal, anyone who could get inside his mind and make his body feel as though he was on fire for their touch.

Hannibal had disarmed him in every possible way.

He had given this man his body and his heart. So why was it so hard to let go of those last vestiges of fear, and trust Hannibal implicitly?

Will didn't know why, but there was still a part of him that was a bit suspicious of Hannibal. There wasn't anything to be suspicious of, not that he could see, but some sixth sense, some third eye, told him that his lover wasn't all that he seemed to be.

He didn't know why that little voice was there, or why he listened to it. But all the same, it kept him from giving Hannibal his complete trust.

He wanted to. He wanted to trust Hannibal in every way, wanted to abandon his fears and let himself trust the man he loved. But he couldn't.

 _And why not?_ Will asked himself. If it was just because of that stupid voice that was always popping up in his mind, screaming at him that trust wasn't simply something given, it had to be _earned_ , then he really should ignore the voice.

Though something told him that would be a mistake. That voice had always protected him; he shouldn't just push it aside because it said something he didn't want to hear.

"I don't believe that you trust me fully, Will. In fact, I know you don't."

Hannibal's voice startled Will out of his thoughts; he opened his mouth to deny the accusation, then closed it again. How did Hannibal know that he hadn't been able to fully give his trust? The man must be able to read his mind, or maybe Hannibal just knew him too well.

"I don't blame you for that," Hannibal continued, his gaze focused on Will as he spoke. "But I hope that you will be able to trust me someday."

"I want to trust you," Will murmured, feeling ashamed that he even had to say the words, to qualify his feelings. "There's no reason for me not to. I guess I just have more severe trust issues than I thought I did. It's not that I don't love you, Hannibal."

"I am fully aware of your feelings for me, Will," Hannibal said, his voice very soft. "I know that you love me. But you do realize that trust goes hand in hand with love."

Will nodded, swallowing hard. "Yeah, I do," he managed to say. "It's just .... it was so easy to fall in love with you, Hannibal. You give me so much that I've always wanted, and that I never thought I would have. But trust comes harder for me."

The other man nodded, reaching out to take Will's hand.

"Being trusted is an even greater compliment than being loved," he said softly, twining his fingers through Will's. "I know that I have your love, Will, and that means a great deal to me. More than I can say. Though I hope someday to have your trust as well."

"I'm trying," Will whispered, feeling tears rise and hoping that he could keep them back. "I am, Hannibal. I want to trust you. I just have some .... issues to work through."

Hannibal smiled at him, squeezing his hand gently. "I know you do, my sweet. And I am more than willing to wait for you to work with those issues. I hope you'll let me help you with them. I am, after all, your psychiatrist as well as your lover."

Will couldn't help but smile at that. "Yeah, you are, in a way. So I guess that makes you the one person uniquely qualified to help me with all my issues."

"Perhaps this weekend is a good time to start," Hannibal murmured, leaning forward to slide his free arm around Will's waist and pull him close. When their lips met, Will was spared having to answer; but he had the definite feeling that tomorrow, they would be having a session.


	17. Hard Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will's trust issues are his biggest weakness.

"Your inability to trust is one of your greatest weaknesses, Will," Hannibal said quietly, looking over at Will. The older man was sitting in a chair near the couch where Will sat, his hands folded in his lap, looking as comfortable here as he did in his office.

"I thought we were here for a vacation," Will joked, feeling a little uneasy. "We shouldn't be having a session. That's your job. You're here to get away from all that."

"Ah, but in some ways, you _are_ my patient, Will, and this is a good opportunity for us to talk about your problems." Hannibal's brows raised as be regarded the younger man. "Being your lover carries with it a responsibility for your well-being."

Will supposed that was true.

He should be able to trust Hannibal, should be able to let his lover sweep all of those issues away. He should be able to talk to Hannibal openly, to let him help.

But it was so hard to talk to Hannibal about his weaknesses. He knew that his problems with intimacy kept him from truly reaching out to anyone, even to the man who was his lover. It was frustrating, but it was a fault he was learning how to deal with.

He _wanted_ to reach out to Hannibal. He was trying his best. And he thought that, in some ways, he had managed to knock down a lot of walls.

But yes, some of those walls were still there. He was trying to work through those problems that held him back, but Will knew that it would take a while. 

How much stronger would he be if he could let go of his inhibitions and trust Hannibal completely? How much stronger would their relationship be -- both emotionally and physically? And yet, he couldn't simply force himself to give his trust.

His trust issues were such an ingrained part of him that he thought of them as a safety net at times. They kept the world away, kept him safe from outsiders.

He wanted to trust the man he loved. He _needed_ to.

It wasn't as easy as it seemed, Will thought with a sigh. Letting go of all those issues was something that had to be done one step at a time. But Hannibal was right -- those intimacy issues were his biggest weakness, and sooner or later, he had to conquer them.

Will looked over at Hannibal with a soft sigh. "I don't know where to start, Hannibal. I feel like I'm floundering here. But I'm ready to try. I just .... need your help."

Hannibal nodded, a small smile on his lips. "And I am here to give you that help, Will." He leaned forward, reaching out and taking Will's hands in his. "It may be a hard road to travel. But I promise you, together we will conquer your weaknesses. No matter how long it takes."


	18. Better Than Today

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will can't remember a day of his life that's been better than this one.

"Thanks for making dinner, Hannibal," Will said, pushing his chair back from the table. "That was great. I usually just run out to a local restaurant and get Thanksgiving dinner. I didn't expect you to want to cook a three-course meal."

"It's Thanksgiving, Will." Hannibal leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smile on his face. "It's a traditional meal. And I thought you needed it."

"I think maybe I did," Will said, a small smile on his lips. "I was hungrier than I thought."

"You don't take very good care of yourself," Hannibal told him, his tone slightly reproving. "You really should eat better food, William. You should watch what you put into your body. After all," his eyes slid down Will's slender frame almost caressingly, "it _is_ a rather beautiful body."

Will blushed as he got up from the table, wondering just what had prompted Hannibal to say those words. "Th-thanks," he mumbled, his tongue stumbling over the word. "You're not so bad yourself, y'know. But then, you're more careful about what you eat."

Hannibal gazed at him, that small smile still on his lips. "Yes, I do," he said softly. "I'm glad you enjoyed the meal, Will. It was a pleasure to cook for you."

Will cleared away the plates silently, carrying them to the sink. He didn't know what else to say; there didn't really seem to be anything for him to put into words. It had been a wonderful evening; he and his lover had been completely relaxed with each other.

Had he ever felt that way with Hannibal before? He didn't think so.

They had gone shopping for food this morning; Hannibal had insisted on cooking a turkey, albeit a small one, and on purchasing all of the ingredients for a traditional Thanksgiving meal. He had spent the entire day in the kitchen, gently refusing Will's offers of help.

Will had finally simply sat on the couch and read a book, though he kept glancing into the kitchen to see what Hannibal was doing.

They'd talked during the meal, and the conversation had been surprisingly light and relaxed. There was no reference to what had been happening in the context of Will's job, and not even a reference to their personal relationship. They had simply talked about innocuous subjects.

He'd found out more about Hannibal during that conversation then he'd ever known. He had discovered that his lover's favorite color was blue, and found out more about his personal likes and dislikes on a myriad of subjects. It had been extremely edifying.

Hannibal had found out more about him, as well.

He had talked about his childhood, about what it had been like to grow up poor, and to feel that he wasn't loved by his parents. But even that topic hadn't gotten uncomfortable; he had merely discussed it, taking a few steps back and pushing his personal feelings aside.

Somehow, it was easy to do that with Hannibal. He didn't feel that he was pushed into talking about any subject that he wasn't comfortable with; the other man had simply sat there and nodded, letting Will ramble on about anything he'd wanted to speak about.

Maybe that was how their psychiatric sessions should have always gone, Will thought with a smile. But he had always been too nervous to just let go.

When they'd had sessions, he had always felt cautious about revealing too much of himself. But this wasn't a session. This had just been two people talking to each other -- two lovers spending time alone together. It hadn't felt as though he'd been revealing too many secrets.

Secrets? He didn't have any secrets. Not from Hannibal.

This man knew everything about him -- and oddly enough, that didn't bother him. If anyone else had been as close to him as Hannibal was, if they'd known so much about his past and his feelings, and simply about who he was, he'd have run away.

But with Hannibal, he didn't feel the need to hide. In fact, he _wanted_ to reveal more about himself and his inner feelings to this man.

Maybe it was just because they were lovers. Or maybe it was because he felt so comfortable with Hannibal on a personal level. He didn't know. But he felt as though he could tell this man anything, and he wouldn't be rejected. Rather, he would be welcomed with open arms.

No one else had ever made him feel like that, and Will was sure that no one else ever could. There was an ease to his relationship with Hannibal, a level of comfort that he knew he would never be able to achieve with any other person.

He was more grateful for that than he could say.

Hannibal didn't judge him. Hannibal didn't expect anything from him. This man was simply here for him, in a way that no one else had ever tried to be, or had wanted to be. Hannibal was not only his lover -- this man was also .... his _friend_.

Will was sure that he'd never had a day before this that had been better than today. He felt as though he had crossed some kind of invisible barrier that he hadn't even known exited -- and that he had ended up by being exactly where he needed and wanted to be.

There was a feeling of comfort, a feeling of belonging that he'd never had before. Was it because of the fact that they were here alone in his home, on a holiday?

He couldn't say. He didn't know the answer to that question. But he knew that he felt better about how his life was progressing than he had in a long time. He felt more at peace, both with himself and the world, than he'd thought he was capable of feeling.

And it was all because of Hannibal being here with him.

He couldn't recall many days in his past, even after he'd met Hannibal and become involved with him, that had felt better than today. Maybe it was just because of the holiday, but he felt peaceful, and for once, he felt completely connected to the world.

Was that because of being with Hannibal? He wasn't sure exactly what to put the feeling down to. Will was just glad the he could let himself feel this way.

It had been a long time since he'd felt this relaxed and happy. It might not be solely because of the man he was with, but he knew that if he was at home celebrating Thanksgiving alone, he wouldn't feel this content. He would more than likely feel lonely.

With Hannibal by his side, he didn't have to feel alone. He never had to _be_ alone again. Oh, he could spend time by himself, but there was a difference between being lonely and being alone. With his lover in his life, loneliness would never assail him again.

So many changes, and all for the better. Because of Hannibal.

"I can't remember a day in my life that's been better than today," he said, surprising himself by uttering the words. "You make me feel .... safe. And happy. I think I'm really happy, for the first time in my life. Thanks for that, Hannibal. I mean it."

"I can recall a day that was better than today," Hannibal told him, moving behind him and sliding strong arms around his waist. "The day I met you, Will. The best day of my life."

As Will closed his eyes and leaned back into Hannibal's arms, he supposed that his lover was right -- the day that they'd met _could_ be seen as their best day. But, he thought as he turned and raised his face to Hannibal's for a kiss, this one was turning out to be pretty special.


	19. Eliminate the Threat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal muses on how best to cover up the murders he's been committing.

Hannibal sighed as he carefully pulled the covers back and got out of bed, looking down at the young man sleeping beside him. Will's breathing was slow and even; it was obvious that he wasn't going to wake up, though he seemed to be a light sleeper.

He didn't want Will to wake up. Not now. He had some thinking to do, and that would be best done alone, in the privacy of the living room downstairs.

He reached for his robe, shrugging into it and leaving the bedroom.

Will's house was rather nice, if a little rustic, he told himself as he made his way down the stairs. It wasn't the luxurious abode that his own home was, but it suited the younger man. And Hannibal had to admit that he rather liked it, as well.

He went into the kitchen quietly, deciding to make himself a cup of tea while he sat on the couch and let his thoughts roam. The dogs didn't stir as he passed their baskets and blankets in the living room; they were all used to him by now.

He'd been bothered by one thought that refused to leave his mind ever since they'd come here; it was time to think the problem through and come to some conclusions.

Will obviously had no clue as to what was really going on with those murders he'd been investigating. But he was becoming more and more frustrated by them.

Therein lay the problem, Hannibal thought with a sigh as he put water into the kettle to brew his tea. Will was frustrated and angry, but he couldn't be told that there would be no way for him to solve this case. His frustration would have to remain.

Hannibal hated to see him like this, but there was no way that Will could be allowed to discover who the real killer was. In spite of Will's love for him, he knew that his young lover would insist on justice -- and that he would end up being behind bars.

He couldn't allow that. It was no way for him to live.

He didn't belong behind bars any more than Will did. He wasn't going to submit to that sort of life; it wasn't what he wanted, or what Will would want for him.

Therefore, Will couldn't be allowed to find out about what he had done. If he had to, he would manage to pin the killings on someone else -- but that meant that, when the other person was found and convicted of the crimes, he would have to stop.

Therein lay the biggest problem. He didn't want to stop. Really, he _couldn't_ stop. He had to keep on with the killings, for Will's sake.

There was no way for him to stop.

Those men were a threat to Will, to his uniqueness, to his individuality. How _dare_ anyone look like his beautiful lover, or even resemble him? Those men had no right to have any kind of resemblance to Will. They had to be eliminated.

Hannibal knew that many would say he was insane. He wasn't. He knew that for a fact. He was cold and calculating, some might even say heartless. But never insane.

Cruel? Yes, possibly. It might be looked at as being cruel to send so many young men to their deaths. But he didn't see it in that light.

He wasn't being cruel. He was merely protecting the man he loved, making sure that there was no one who could compete with Will, who could infringe upon his individuality. He was leaving the path clear for Will to make his mark on the world.

He was doing this for love, pure and simple.

It was something that had to be done, and he wasn't going to stop until he absolutely had to. He was going to eliminate anything that he saw as a threat to Will.

Those men _were_ a threat, in his eyes. Of course, most people wouldn't see things in the way he did, but that didn't matter. He was protecting Will, protecting his lover's uniqueness in this world, and he would continue to do so.

That wouldn't be so easy now, though. He would have to find someone to take the fall for those murders, and then make it look as though there was a copycat.

Either that, or an accomplice. Either one would work.

It wouldn't be hard to do that at all, Hannibal mused. Finding someone to take the fall would be harder than convincing the inept Jack Crawford that there was a copycat killer on the loose, or that the original killer had an accomplice who had taken over his agenda.

That agenda would never be discovered. Of course, the man who would be in prison -- more than likely on death row -- for the killings wouldn't know what the reason behind the murders was, and Hannibal certainly wasn't going to tell.

These really would be the perfect crimes, he told himself with a smile. The only problem would be keeping Will far enough away from them so that he wouldn't figure it out.

Of course he wouldn't. Will could spin his wheels from now until doomsday, and he would never know that it was his own lover who had orchestrated all of this.

Hannibal didn't like the idea of Will becoming more and more frustrated; he didn't like the way these killings had affected his lover mentally and emotionally. But Will would get over it. Eventually, he would stop feeling that the killer was coming for him.

In time, he would stop looking over his shoulder, and his fears would ease. Hannibal wished that he could tell Will that the killer would never be after him, that the killings were, in effect, to _save_ him. But there was no way that he could impart that information.

Not without telling Will everything, and that was something he couldn't do.

The kettle distracted him; it emitted a low whistle, not enough to awaken Will upstairs, but enough to draw his attention to the fact that the water was boiling.

He quickly made a cup of tea, deciding to sip it while reading a book. He hadn't really decided the matter of just what to do about what he perceived as a threat to Will, but he had started the thought process. He didn't think it would take him long to come up with a workable solution.


	20. Alone With His Fears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will has never felt uneasy in his own home before. He doesn't like the sensation.

Will sighed softly, throwing aside the magazine he'd been perusing. His little vacation was over; Hannibal was back in Baltimore, and he'd been back at work for almost a week.

They were no closer to catching the killer who had been haunting his dreams -- or rather, his nightmares -- for the past few weeks, though two more bodies had dropped in less than a week. Two in four days, when there hadn't been a single killing the week before.

It was as though the killer had _known_ that Will was on vacation.

The thought chilled him. Could the killer be watching him so closely that all of his movements were known? He didn't like the feeling of being under a microscope.

How could the killer know that he hadn't been working unless he'd been following his movements? Will felt chilled at the inference that his home was being watched, but he supposed that he shouldn't be surprised. Killers could probably find him very easily.

He was just lucky that none had decided to menace him before. It would be all too easily to trap him out here in the country, in his own home.

For the first time, he began to feel a little scared at the thought. He hated that; he didn't like feeling uneasy and even frightened in his own home. It was something that he shouldn't have to feel. This was his home; he should feel completely safe here.

But now that he'd let that thought get into his head, he couldn't feel safe. Not until he checked all the doors and windows, and knew they were locked tightly.

Well, it made sense to protect himself from intruders, didn't it?

Will felt like a fool as he walked around the house, checking each window carefully, and the front and back doors as well. He even went out onto the porch and peered around, to make sure that thee was no one in sight, no lurkers around the sides of the house.

Of course, there was no one. He should have known there wouldn't be. If there was anyone watching him, they would keep to the relative safety of the woods.

No one would be stupid enough to let him actually _see_ them, or give him a clue that they were here. Especially not a steady, experienced killer. It was ridiculous to think that it would be simple to get a look at the person who made him feel so nervous and unsettled.

He checked every window, every door. They were all impenetrable.

Well, at least that gave him some peace of mind.

What would he do if he came face-to-face with the killer, anyway? He didn't know, but he wasn't going to be unprepared, Will assured himself grimly. He would make sure that he kept his gun within reach at all times -- and he would stay alert.

Well, he would stay alert until he went to bed, he amended with a sigh. It wasn't like he was going to be paranoid and stay up all night on some kind of watch.

That would be crazy. And though some people might think he was crazy, he wasn't _that_ far gone, at least not yet. Besides, he didn't think that the killer would come for him at his home. No, he would do it in some place where he could dump the body.

 _His_ body. Will felt a chill go through him at the thought.

He was starting to feel scared again; he really didn't want to be alone. He had felt much safer in his own home when Hannibal had been here with him.

But he'd stayed here for the last three nights alone, with Hannibal a little over an hour away in Baltimore. He hadn't felt scared then, so there was no reason for him to let fear overcome him tonight. It was silly for him to be scared. He shouldn't be frightened.

He was in his home, with the doors and windows locked. No one could get in. If they tried, he would hear them -- and he would take action to protect himself.

But tomorrow night, he would spend the night at Hannibal's house in Baltimore. He would leave his home unprotected, that was true, but the dogs would be here. And they wouldn't let anyone who they didn't know into this house. They never had before, they wouldn't start now.

He would feel safer if he could spend a night with his boyfriend. Maybe he should have already done that. It would have made him feel more calm and settled.

Things had just been busy, he told himself. That was all.

There was no rift growing between himself and Hannibal. It was ridiculous to think that. Just because they hadn't spend the last three nights together, or at least one night out of those three, that was no reason to think that something was wrong.

Will sighed softly, closing his eyes. That was one more thing that he and Hannibal needed to talk about. He wondered if they were starting to draw apart.

That was what scared him more than anything else -- not the thought of being watched by a killer, but the idea of losing his boyfriend, the one means of support in his life. Losing Hannibal wasn't an option. He had to make sure that didn't happen.

Tomorrow, they would talk. Tonight .... well, tonight he was alone with his fears and anxieties.


	21. Covetous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal needs Will in his life to bring a little light into his perpetual darkness.

Hannibal leaned back in his desk chair, closing his eyes. He'd just seen his last patient for the day, ushering them out quietly. The rest of the day and evening was for himself.

And for Will, he thought with a slight smile. He would see his young lover tonight, and he had no doubt that he would take Will to bed. He had been thinking about that ever since the night before, when he had spent the night alone in his huge bed.

But he and Will didn't see each other every night for a reason, he cautioned himself. Doing that would make him far too dependent on Will's presence.

Hannibal sighed, pushing a stray lock of hair back from his face.

But he _was_ dependent on Will, at this point. He might as well admit it. He _needed_ the young man to make him happy, to make him feel as though there was some point to his days, to his life going on. He needed Will like he had never needed anyone.

And last night, he had come to a realization that bothered him somewhat. He'd realized that he also _coveted_ Will, as as possession.

He didn't like thinking of Will as his possession, not really. But Will _was_ his, even though he didn't _own_ his young lover as he would a pet. Will belonged to him, in every sense of the word. There was a bond between them that couldn't be broken.

Will felt that way, too. Hannibal was sure of it. Will turned to him when he needed help; Will came to him for assistance and assurance.

They needed each other, really. Will needed him to boost his self-assurance and self-esteem, and he needed Will to give him a reason for his life going on. Before Will had come into his life, there hadn't really seemed to be a reason for that to happen.

Will kept him going. Will .... gave him hope.

Was it any wonder that he coveted that feeling in his life, and was loath to let it go? Was it any wonder that he did whatever he thought necessary to keep it there?

Oh, he would never have considered killing himself, ending his life; that was simply _wrong_. He didn't want to die, but before the advent of Will in his life to brighten his days -- and nights -- there hadn't seemed to be much of a reason to rise and go about every day.

His patients, yes. That gave him something to do, but it didn't really exercise his mind or capture his interest. Not in the ways that he needed it to.

There hadn't been much in his life before Will.

He had tried to pretend that he had a full life. He had given dinner parties, seen patients, gone to the opera, rad a lot of books. But ultimately, all of that was empty.

He had never thought that he was the sort of person who wanted, or needed, anyone to care for. He had long since pushed that sort of emotion out of his life, telling himself that with him, it wasn't important. Emotions did not have a place in his existence.

Then, he'd met Will -- and emotions had come rushing in when he had been all but certain that he was done with them forever. Will had changed everything.

Will had changed his life for the better -- first as a friend, and then as a lover. And now, he was doing all that he could to protect those changes.

He didn't want anyone out there who looked like Will, who resembled him physically in any way. He knew that there was no one who could be like Will mentally or emotionally, so he wasn't worried about what people were like on the inside. Only how they _looked_.

He coveted Will not only for who he was, but for his good looks. And he wanted to preserve those looks, to make sure that they were kept unique.

There was nothing wrong with wanting his lover to be special.

Of course, Will wouldn't agree with that if he knew what was going on, Hannibal thought with a soft sigh. Will would more than likely be repulsed by his actions.

Which was why he could never tell Will about all that he was doing to preserve what was uniquely his. If he did, then Will would turn away from him in disgust. He had no doubt of that. As much as Will loved him, he knew that his young lover would never understand.

No one would. Which was why he would have to go to the trouble of framing someone else for his actions. It was a dirty business, but it couldn't be helped.

And, of course, after a suitable amount of time had passed, he would continue.

It was annoying to know that he would have to curtail his activities for a while; that would give people who might resemble Will time to multiply, to come into the area and become blots on his lover's uniqueness. But he would take care of that soon enough.

It was more than a little annoying to have to keep himself hidden like this, but he had become used to it over the years. And now, hiding was more important than ever.

if what he did, what he _was_ , was ever brought into the light, he was certain that Will would leave him. He didn't doubt that it would cause Will great pain to do so, but he knew that his lover wouldn't be able to stay. He wasn't that kind of man.

Will had a wonderful sense of justice, of right and wrong. Though darkness existed in him, he would always inevitably go to the side of the light.

Perhaps that was yet another reason that he coveted Will, Hannibal mused. He would like to embrace that lighter side himself, but he knew that he had gone much too far into the darkness to ever come out of it again. He had no salvation, unlike Will.

No, that wasn't quite true. Will _was_ his salvation.

Will was his light. He coveted that light, wanted to hold it to himself and never let it go. It was one of the many reasons why he held onto Will so tightly.

Perhaps he shouldn't be so covetous of Will, desirous of seeing more of the side of his nature that would always turn towards the light. Perhaps he would only end up dragging his young lover into the darkness with him, a darkness that neither of them would ever escape from.

But that was the risk he took. He would try his best not to drag Will down, to let Will continue to be the light at the end of the tunnel for him.

Even though he knew deep within his heart that he would never reach that light.

Ah, well, at the moment, that didn't seem to matter much. What mattered was that he would see Will tonight, and that they would spend time together and inevitably make love. He was looking forward to the evening more than he could possibly put into words.


	22. Sitting Duck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's someone in the woods outside his house, and Will feels very alone and vulnerable.

He was a mess. An utter, complete, total mess.

There was someone out there in the woods in front of his house. Watching his home. Watching _him_. He was sure of it; he had seen the shadowy figure when he'd stepped out onto the porch just a few minutes ago. He knew that he was being observed.

Will shuddered, letting the curtain fall back into place and turning away from the window. He wasn't sure if he should call anyone or not, but he was going to.

First, he would call Hannibal, and tell hm what was going on. Then he'd call Jack, and explain to him that someone was outside, and that he thought they might have malicious intent. Then he would sit here and wait for help to arrive.

That was all he could do, at the moment.

He wasn't going to try to take on whoever this might be by himself; the man could be a lot stronger than he was physically, and he wouldn't force a confrontation.

And he wasn't going to start mindlessly shooting, either. That would be worse than stupid; what if the person outside his home was a first-class marksman? He could end up dead long before anyone could get here to help him. That wasn't what he wanted.

No, what he wanted was to flush this person out into the open, have him surrounded by cops, and be sure to find out just who he was and what he was doing.

Will took one deep breath, then another. So far, whoever the person was, they hadn't tried to get inside the house -- but they obviously knew that he was aware of their presence. He'd made that clear by frowning as he scanned the woods, and then quickly going back inside.

Going back in, closing and locking the front door, and making sure that all the windows were locked before pulling the curtains across them made it obvious that he knew someone was there.

Maybe that hadn't been the smartest thing to do.

Yes, it had, he told himself firmly. If he hadn't pulled the curtains, he would have given this person a target. And if he hadn't gone back inside, he'd be a sitting duck.

Of course, if the man was a marksman, then he probably already was. He was holding his own gun, but his hands were clammy, and he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He was just waiting for a shot to ring out; he was expecting it, straining to hear it.

But so far, it was quiet. He couldn't even hear anyone walking around the house, even though all of his senses, every nerve, was acute and alert.

Whoever was out there, Will didn't doubt that they meant him harm. They wouldn't be skulking around in the woods outside of his home if they didn't.

When he'd talked to Hannibal, he hadn't put forth the idea that this could happen. He wondered if the other man was on his way now, if he'd gotten the voice mail that Will had left. He might still be with a patient, not knowing what was going on here.

He knew that as soon as Hannibal got that message, he would come to Wolf Trap, even if meant canceling an appointment. He just hoped that Hannibal would get the message soon.

He wanted Hannibal here, close to him.

All right, maybe he was jumping at shadows. Maybe it was weak to want his boyfriend near him. But he was scared. Really scared. He was alone, and he needed help.

Yes, he was a decent shot. But he had no idea if this person might try to break into his house, or come after him in some different way. And he had no idea if they were alone, or if there were other people in the woods with them, all of them aiming for one target.

When Jack and the police arrived, then he'd be safe. Whoever was out there would be surrounded by officers of the law, and they would be caught.

But until then, he was a trembling, terrified mess. He didn't know why he was so frightened of this person; he only knew that he was.

No, he knew why. Because this man had killed so many young men who looked like him, or at the very least, resembled him enough to make the connection. It was obvious that Will was the one he was after, the one he had wanted dead all along.

At least, he was fairly sure of that. But what if he was wrong? What if there was some other, more insidious, plan going through this killer's mind?

His empathy should have already been able to divine that plan. But that hadn't happened.

That fact n itself was frightening; knowing that his empathy wasn't working with this killer, at least not in its usual way, made him feel less sure of himself. Maybe his empathy was starting to wind down, like a watch that needed a new battery.

No, that shouldn't happen. He should be able to see into this killer's mind, but for some reason, that mind was shrouded in mystery, hidden from his abilities.

That was another reason that he felt like such a mess, he realized. His empathy seemed to be failing him somehow, and that was something he had always counted on. He felt as though a part of himself was going missing, a part that he couldn't afford to lose.

The thought that he could lose what made him special was terrifying.

Will reluctantly left his post at the window, going to sit on the couch and taking a deep breath. He felt so helpless, unable to do anything or go anywhere.

He had to stay here and wait for the cavalry to arrive. He felt exposed, vulnerable, as though he was simply sitting here waiting to be tossed around on a stormy sea, with little or not control over what might happen. He hated that feeling. He hated not being able to take action.

He had to force himself to be calm, Will told himself firmly. He couldn't lose it, not now. He couldn't let himself become a helpless, vulnerable mess.

Because if he did it now, then he might never be anything else.


	23. Heart of Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal has manipulated Will into just the spot he wants his young lover to be in.

He loved watching Will move.

Hannibal could hardly take his eyes off Will as the young man paced back and forth across his living room. He was so utterly graceful, so beautiful to Hannibal's eyes. It was hard not to stare ad him, and to imagine that grace and beauty in his bed.

He could close his eyes and imagine Will sprawled across the dark sheets of his bed, that pale skin glowing, those blue eyes hazy with desire ....

"There was somebody out there, Hannibal," Will told him, his voice rising slightly. "In the woods outside my house, watching me. I'm not just imagining this, and I'm not making it up. I _know_ somebody was out there. And it's freaking me out."

"You think that whoever was out there watching your house is the killer who's been doing away with all of these men who look like you," Hannibal said, leaning back.

Of course there was someone watching Will's house. He had been rather uncomfortable last night; it had been colder than he'd anticipated, but he'd stayed out in the woods for quite a while, even though he risked catching a cold from doing so.

He wanted to keep Will agitated, off balance, even frightened.

He still hadn't chosen the person who he intended to take the fall for his own crimes; he'd been too busy with trying to keep Will in a state of near-panic.

But he would have to find that person soon, Hannibal thought with a slight frown. He would have to divert all suspicion towards them, and then continue the killings. He would have to be more and more discreet than ever; he didn't want any breath of doubt to arise.

Everyone would have to believe that his chosen fall guy was the killer, and that they had an accomplice who they wouldn't give up to the authorities.

Of course, that man would never know who the real killer was, or why he had been targeted and framed. He would more than likely go to his death, or spend the rest of his life in prison, never knowing what had been done, or why he had been chosen.

No one would ever know, Hannibal thought with satisfaction. And he would continue to rid the world of men who marred Will's uniqueness.

That was simply the way things had to be.

"Will, you need to calm down," he told the young man, gratified when Will collapsed into a chair and ran a hand over his face. Yes, he was definitely agitated.

This was how he wanted Will -- unsure, off balance, and needy. This was what he needed from the young man; he needed to be able to step in and comfort Will, to reassure him, to make sure that Will feel further under his control.

If he could control Will fully, then he would be able to move the young man along the path that he wanted him to take. A path that led directly into the heart of darkness.

Hannibal was surprised when Will got up and began pacing again only seconds after he had sat down; it was as though he couldn't stay still.

But watching Will pace was fascinating, he had to admit. He loved the grace of the young man's body; his movements were only all the more alluring for his agitation, for the way that his pacing was so fluid, back and forth, back and forth.

It had been easy to get Will to this point, Hannibal mused. Now the question was seeing how long he could keep the young man teetering on the edge of panic.

He was sure that he could manage it for quite a while.

Leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, he observed Will, taking in the young man's agitation, feeling proud to have caused it.

Will wasn't the type of person who would lose control easily. He didn't panic over nothing. He would usually keep his head in dangerous situations; he didn't fall apart at the slightest sign of adversity. it was something of an accomplishment to have caused his current state.

Perhaps it was nothing to be proud of, but Hannibal couldn't help congratulating himself for achieving just the state that he wanted Will to be in.

Will had no idea that he was being manipulated; he didn't know that the person behind what he was dealing with now was his own lover. Hannibal had to congratulate himself on that, too. He'd been very careful, and so far,everything had gone according to plan.

He didn't doubt that those plans would be carried out to the end. He wasn't going to slip up now, even if he had to take a few slight detours.

No, he was far too astute to be tripped up or caught off guard.

But Will wasn't, despite the guards he tried to keep in place. And he was proving that now; the pacing was becoming more frantic, his gestures as he spoke less controlled. Hannibal could see that he was giving himself over to his fears, just as he wanted.

But maybe it was time to calm Will down a bit, in spite of the pleasing picture his graceful movements and unsettled demeanor presented.

"Calm down," he said again, getting to his feet and going to the young man, taking Will's hands in his own. "I know that this is difficult to deal with, Will. But we _will_ find the person who's causing all of this, and he will end up behind bars, where he belongs."

There. That had the desired effect, calming Will and making him take a deep breath and close his eyes. When he opened them again, the blue depths were calmer.

With another graceful movement, he reached out to touch Hannibal's cheek. "Can you take me upstairs?" he asked, his voice very soft. "I need you tonight, Hannibal. I need to get all of this out of my mind. I need to enjoy a night with you."

Hannibal smiled and nodded, all too ready to comply with such a request.


	24. Something's Changing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is uncomfortable with the changing dynamics in his relationship with Hannibal.

He'd expected being with Hannibal tonight to be more fulfilling.

Will lay on his side, listening to Hannibal's quiet breathing. He was sure that his lover was asleep; Hannibal's measured breaths told him that, and he didn't think that the other man was so good at dissembling that he could fake sleep at this point.

They'd just made love, and Hannibal had put a lot into it. So he very much doubted that the older man had to fake being tired, after such a workout.

But somehow, the sex hadn't been the way it usually was. For some odd reason, Hannibal had seemed .... well, _distracted_ , for lack of a better word. It felt like their relationship was subtly changing, and Will didn't like that idea at all.

He didn't want anything to change between them.

But yet, it seemed that everything _was_ changing, and he didn't know how to deal with that. He had never been good with change, especially in his personal life.

Change disturbed him, made him feel that he was treading on uneven ground. And change within the budding relationship he had with Hannibal made him even more unsure, more hesitant about moving forward and being bolder than he usually was.

Why was he so resistant to change? he asked himself, one hand curling into a fist. Was it because things just always felt more comfortable if they stayed at one point? That was impossible, really; everything _had_ to change, to mutate, to move on.

But he was afraid that would happen with his relationship, and that Hannibal would get tired of him and move away from him, to find someone else.

Ah. That was the gist of this uncomfortable feeling.

Something was changing between the two of them, and he couldn't put his finger on exactly what it was. He just knew that Hannibal had seemed more distant, more reserved, when they had made love tonight. Will hoped that things weren't coming to an end already.

What would he do if they were? Would he beg Hannibal to give them another chance, rather than turning and walking away, ending it between them?

He would have to. There would be no other choice, because he couldn't, _wouldn't_ , let his lover walk away from him. He would do whatever he had to do to keep Hannibal with him; losing the only person he wanted to be involved with wasn't a change he could cope with.

Will couldn't help wondering what other changes might be on the way.


	25. Shining Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal wants to let Will's unique light shine out -- but only for himself.

Will was the light in his life. Everything else was darkness.

Hannibal propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at the young man sleeping beside him. He had to restrain the urge to reach out and stroke Will's hair.

If he did that, then he might awaken his sleeping lover, and he didn't want Will to wake up just yet. He wanted to enjoy this time when he could simply lie here and watch Will sleep, and revel in the fact that this beautiful young man was _his_.

Will was unique in his beauty, and Hannibal refused to allow anyone else to impinge on that uniqueness. No one else would resemble Will. Not ever.

He'd done a good job of taking care of that, so far.

He had made sure that Will would be a shining light, that no one else would look like him or resemble him in any way. No one else had that right.

What would Will think if he knew? Hannibal sighed softly, closing his eyes. He didn't have to guess at that. Will would be appalled. He would shrink away from his lover, and their relationship would unravel in only a few moments. Hannibal was sure of it.

That was why Will could never know just what he had been doing. He would never be able to catch the killer that he'd been so desperately seeking.

Will would never understand his reasoning. No one else would, either. And he had the feeling that his lover's empathy was bringing him closer to the truth.

So, he was going to have to be much more careful in the future. He liked some of the ideas that he'd come up with as far as putting Will completely off track -- and if he was lucky, if his plans worked out as he hoped they would, then someone else would take the fall.

It would be too bad for that person, Hannibal told himself, but quite honestly, he didn't really care. As long as the focus was turned away from him.

if someone else had to pay for his actions, then that was simply the way of the world.

Other people's fates didn't really matter to him. He was concerned with Will, as well as with himself. He just wanted to preserve Will's beautifully unique light.

Will Graham was a beacon in his darkness, the one true light in his life, and he was going to keep it that way. No one else would be allowed to touch Will's light. Hannibal was going to make sure that light would be preserved for all time, to shine for him.

And no one else would be allowed to touch that light, he thought, his gaze darkening. Will was _his_ , and only his. That was how it was meant to be.

His light would keep shining. But _only_ for him.


	26. Solitary Adventurer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal cautions Will against walking alone in the woods.

"It would be best for you to stay here for a while, Will."

"Hannibal, you know I can't do that." Will ran a hand through his hair in frustration, shaking his head. "I have to take care of the dogs. I have personal responsibilities."

"You can always go to Wolf Trap to look after the dogs when you have finished work for the day, and then come back here to spend the evening." Hannibal's tone held concern; Will could hear it as clearly as though Hannibal had actually _said_ that he was worried.

"Yeah, I could, but that would be a lot of extra driving when I don't _need_ to stay here," he pointed out. "I'll be okay. I can't just run away and hide."

Hannibal sighed softly, his nod reluctant.

"No, I suppose you can't," Hannibal agreed, his gaze not wavering from Will's face. "But I don't like the idea of you being so isolated at your home."

"I'll be fine, Hannibal." Will smiled with an assurance he didn't feel, though he was sure that Hannibal knew of his fears and misgivings. "I've lived there for years, and it's my home. I've always felt safe there. I'm not going to give up my home because of some stalker."

Hannibal nodded again, but Will could see the concern in those dark eyes. "I can't make you stay where you don't want to be, Will."

"No, you can't." Will deliberately kept his tone brisk and businesslike; he didn't want to think about all of the fears that came crowding in upon him when he was in bed at night, trying to sleep and wondering if there was someone out side watching his house. Watching _him_.

That was ridiculous, of course. Even if the person who had obviously targeted him was outside, hiding in the woods, he couldn't see into Will's bedroom.

But it was frightening to know that they were out there.

He couldn't go wandering alone in the woods any more; it was far too dangerous with someone out there who might mean him harm. He didn't even like letting the dogs roam, even though they would probably be safe. They could protect themselves.

But what if this person had a knife or a gun? He more than likely wouldn't hesitate to hurt one of the dogs; he had to know how much Will cared for them.

Still, he couldn't keep his pets cooped up inside the house all the time. They needed to run around in the woods a couple of times a day; they were outdoor animals for the most part, even though they lived in the house. It wouldn't be right to take away their freedom.

He would simply have to trust that they could take care of themselves.

His own wanderings would have to come to an end until this person was caught and put behind bars. It was too much of a risk for him to wander around alone.

Will had always enjoyed being able to roam in the woods around his home; he knew those woods better than anyone, certainly better than someone who had probably only been watching him for a fairly short time. But he couldn't take the chance.

it would be stupid for him to put his life at risk simply because he wanted to walk in the woods. He could enjoy that simple pleasure again once his stalker was caught.

There would be no more wandering alone in the woods, especially after dark when he got home from a long day at work. He could no longer relax by doing that.

It had been a way for him to think about what had taken place during the day; walking in the woods allowed him to walk off some of the tension that he generally carried with him when he was at a crime scene, a way to relax and let it all go.

Now, that had been taken from him, and he couldn't help but feel irritated by that fact. He _needed_ that relaxation, that getaway.

Well, he would get it back. Once this stalker was caught and put away.

Being able to wander in the woods alone had not only been a way for him to relax, but it had also been a way ot working out his thoughts, of compartmentalizing his life. He had always treasured that alone time, and now that he couldn't indulge in it, he missed it terribly.

He felt more tense lately, more nervous, and he was sure sure that it was because he hadn't had that time he needed to put everything in its proper place in his mind.

"I know that you've always enjoyed being a solitary adventurer, or a solivagant, if you will, in the place that you feel is your own." Hannibal's words broke into his thoughts again, bringing Will's gaze back to him. "But it's no longer safe for you to do that, Will."

Will nodded, sighing before he spoke again, his voice soft.

"I won't," he said, knowing that he was making a promise even as he spoke the words. "But I hate having to miss out on that. It was one of the things that kept me sane."

"Maybe that is what this person is trying to take away from you," Hannibal suggested, leaning forward and regarding Will steadily with those fathomless dark eyes. "Perhaps he wants to put you off-balance, to make you feel that you have nowhere to turn."

"He's not going to do that," Will said firmly, shaking his head. "I won't let him. I'm not going to let this undo me. I'm stronger than that."

"I hope you are, Will." Hannibal's voice was quiet, almost contemplative. "But I don't think that you should try to deal with this on your own. You have people who you can reach out to, people who will help you. Who want to help you. I am one of them."

Will nodded, sighing again. "I know you are. So is Jack. And I'm grateful for the help. But it's _me_ that he's after, and I need to deal with that thought on my own."

Hannibal merely nodded; no more words were needed.

Will took a deep breath, pasting a smile onto his face. "Don't worry about me," he told Hannibal as he got up from his chair. "I'm not defenseless, Hannibal. I'm a trained FBI agent. I know how to handle myself. I'm not going to take any unnecessary risks."

"All right, Will. I'll try not to worry overmuch." Hannibal rose to his feet as well, a sign that their session was over. "Drive carefully on the way home."

"I will." He headed for the front door, feeling suddenly reluctant to leave the warmth and safety of this house. Maybe Hannibal was right; maybe he _should_ stay here instead of going back to Wolf Trap. The dogs could get along without him for one night.

No. He wasn't going to do that. He wouldn't run away and cower in fear.

That would be letting the bastard win, in a way, and he wasn't going to do that. He was going to conquer his fears, and come out on the winning side of this.

He left Hannibal's house quietly, walking out to his car, looking around carefully as he got inside. There was no one that he could see who might be watching him, but in this city, there was no telling who could see him from some hidden vantage point.

He didn't intend to be a solitary adventurer tonight, he told himself. No, he would simply go home, shower, and go to bed. No wandering in the woods for him tonight.

Time enough for him to be a solivagant later, when he could do so without fear.


	27. Noctuary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will decides that keeping a journal could be a stabilizing influence for him.

Will ran a hand over his face, his eyesight blurring.

He didn't know why he was so nervous about going to sleep. He shouldn't be worried; it wasn't as though he had sensed anyone outside tonight.

But yet, he felt as though he didn't want to let himself sleep, to be unconscious to the world around him. It was as if he could _feel_ a malicious intent towards him permeating the atmosphere, as though there was some malingering spirit just outside his door.

Whoever was stalking him, he couldn't shake the feeling that they were right outside, just waiting for him to fall asleep so they could create havoc in his life.

He didn't want to deal with that. He didn't need it.

He hadn't asked for this, he told himself almost angrily. He didn't want a stalker; he didn't want someone following him around, watching his house, making him feel uneasy. Some people might feel flattered to have a person watching them on a regular basis; he didn't.

There was nothing flattering about this in the least. It was terrifying. It was as if he was just waiting for the watching to be followed by an attack.

So far, that hadn't happened, but there was no reason not to expect it. He knew enough about stalkers to know that they always escalated, especially once they felt that their prey was at their most vulnerable. He didn't doubt that this person would show themselves at some point.

He didn't know what he would do when and if they did.

Will sighed, putting his book aside, wondering what he could do to make himself stay up later. His eyes were already burning; he knew that he needed to get some sleep.

But he didn't want to go to bed, at least not yet. The clock was creeping towards midnight, and that was the time when he usually went to bed, but he couldn't force himself to sleep when he was this wound up and tense. He knew that he would just toss and turn.

So there was no use in trying to sleep, but what could he do to keep himself awake? He definitely couldn't go outside; that would be foolish.

Reading wouldn't do any good, either; he'd been trying to do that for over an hour now, and even though he had read the same page over and over again, his brain wasn't making any sense of the words. There was no sense in reading when he couldn't concentrate.

The only other thing he could do was wash the dishes, or do laundry; he'd already done the dishes, but he could probably dredge up some clothes that needed washing.

As he rose to his feet, his gaze fell on an empty journal.

He had bought that journal intending to write in it, but somehow, he had never started. It never felt like the right time, and he hadn't been inspired to write anything in it.

At least, not yet. His heart rate quickened at the thought; maybe this was something that could not only help him sleep, but he would be able to sort out his thoughts about what he was dealing with, and that might make it easier to formulate a plan.

Will reached for the journal, opening it and picking up a pen. He curled up on the couch, resting the journal on his knees, the pen poised above the paper.

Now, how exactly should he start this? he asked himself.

Now that he had the journal in his hands, he wasn't entirely sure of what to say. Should he start with right now, what he was doing, how he was feeling?

He'd kept a journal when he was a kid, but he'd stopped once he was in high school. It had just seemed like a stupid endeavor to write down his thoughts and feelings; he hadn't _wanted_ anyone to know how he felt, hadn't wanted anyone to see inside him.

He'd kept that particular window resolutely closed for so long that he wasn't entirely sure of just how to open it again -- or whether he really wanted to.

But keeping a journal about everything that he was going through seemed like the right thing to do at this point, like something that would keep him settled and grounded.

He had actually thought of talking to Hannibal about it, but that hadn't seemed like the best of ideas, either. He thought that Hannibal might want to actually read his journal, that he might think it would give him some insight into Will and help their therapy.

Will didn't want that, even if Hannibal thought it would be a good thing. This journal would be for _him_ , and him alone. Not for anyone else's eyes.

No one needed to have that much insight into who he was.

Maybe he should merely try keeping a record of what he'd done during the day, at first. But no, that would be boring for _him_. He wanted this journal to be something more.

Did he want to talk about this whole business with the stalker, and how he felt about it? He really wasn't sure exactly _how_ he felt, but maybe trying to put it all down into words would clarify that, and even make it easier to deal with.

With that thought in mind, Will began writing; the pen seemed to fly across the page, and the words poured out of him as though they'd been blocked for too long.

Somehow, the writing felt .... cathartic.

As the pen formed words, Will could almost feel his emotions pouring out onto the page. It was a relief to get everything written down, even though it wasn't coming out in the way that he had intended it to. It was all a lot more emotional than he'd thought it would be.

Everything that he felt was going down on these pages -- he couldn't seem to stop the pen, couldn't make himself put it down and stop writing.

This would be a journal that he kept for himself, one that he could go back and look at when all of this was over, and hopefully gain some insight into his own psyche. Maybe this would help him even more than his sessions with Hannibal did.

Now _that_ was a good goal to keep in his sights.

When he finally finished writing, Will scanned the lines of script, then put down the pen with a soft sigh and flexed his fingers. Somehow, this still didn't feel complete.

It dawned on him that he wanted to keep a noctuary -- a journal of what had happened during the night. His thoughts, his feelings, his dreams, his actions. It would be a good way for him to look back and see what he was doing, and pinpoint things he needed to change.

The thought lifted his spirits; the idea of being able to do something proactive, instead of just sitting around and waiting, made him feel a lot better.

Waiting had never been one of his strong points; he wasn't a patient man. There were times when he had to be, at least in his work -- but this had nothing to do with his professional life. This was the personal sphere, and he didn't have to exercise that kind of patience.

Still, it looked as though he might need to, at least for the time being. And writing down the events of the night, and all that he thought and dreamed, would definitely help.

It would at least make him feel that he was doing something productive.

He would keep a noctuary of each single night's events, and his own thoughts. Even the dreams he'd had on each particular night, if he could remember them.

it would give him a sense of purpose, something that he could hold on to. It didn't seem to be helping him sleep, or even making him more tired, but then, his mind was whirling now with all of his new ideas, so he really shouldn't have expected it to.

He was embarking on something new, something that he felt he needed to do. In a way, it was exciting. It was proactive, and Will was sure that it would help him.

No one else would know about it, either.

There was no reason to tell anyone else, not even Hannibal. The man who was his _de facto_ shrink didn't need to know anything about this.

After all, he didn't have to tell Hannibal _everything_ about his life. He had a right to some privacy, didn't he? It wasn't as though he had to spill every little secret, tell Hannibal every move that he made, every thought in his mind. He didn't have to open himself completely.

The only place where he _would_ be that open was his noctuary. Now that he'd started it, he actually felt a lot better. He felt .... well, more _peaceful_.

And maybe tonight, he would actually be able to sleep without any disturbing dreams.


	28. waiting For the Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will finds that writing in his new acquired journal doesn't help with his sleeplessness.

Will closed the journal he'd been writing in, glancing up at the clock.

It was only midnight, and he didn't feel the slightest bit sleepy. Well, that was more or less his own fault; he'd told himself that he would go to bed early tonight.

Instead, he'd stayed up to write in this journal, since he'd gone out of his way to buy it today. It almost felt like he was a kid again, getting all excited about writing down the details of his day; he'd written so much that he felt as though he'd lived through it twice.

But wasn't that the point in keeping a journal? he asked himself. To note down all of the details of what he had done, and also to write down his feelings and thoughts.

That was exactly what he'd done, which was why it had taken so long.

Unfortunately, instead of making him sleepy, the process of writing had only seemed to make him even more wakeful than usual.

He sighed softly, closing the leather-bound book and laying his pen down next to it. It wasn't like he hadn't already been used to being at his desk late at night; there had been nights when he'd had papers to grade that hadn't been able to wait, and he'd been up nearly all night.

But this was very different from grading papers. This wasn't something to do with work; this was something personal, something of his own.

He really shouldn't let this add to his sleeplessness, but he didn't feel that he had a choice. Will was sure that keeping a journal was going to be good for him; it would help him get his thoughts out, sort through them, and clear his head.

He was also sure that Hannibal would request to see his journal at some time or other, but he was hesitant about letting anyone else see what he wrote down.

It wasn't for other eyes. It was only for _him_.

Nobody else would see what he had written in this little book, or any others he might happen to fill with his thoughts. This wasn't for public consumption.

He didn't even feel comfortable showing any of this to Hannibal, even though the man was his psychiatrist. This was too personal; there was too much of his mind, even his heart, that would go into those pages. It wasn't meant for anyone to peruse.

Anything he'd write in this book could possibly be used against him in some ways -- and he didn't intend to let anyone get that far into his mind.

No, this was just for him. Nobody else would see him that intimately.

It didn't matter that Hannibal was already his lover, and already knew him so well. There were some things that the other man didn't need ot know.

After all, everyone had to have some personal refuge where no one else could enter, didn't they? Will was sure that Hannibal had that private place of his own, a place where Will wasn't allowed to be. Even people in the best, most secure relationships needed their privacy at times.

It wasn't like he was shutting Hannibal out of his life, he reasoned. Just a little part of it, a part that he felt he needed to keep for himself.

Hannibal was a psychiatrist. He, better than anyone else Will knew, would understand that his lover needed a little privacy, a place to be alone.

Of course, _alone_ was what he'd been all of his life, and what he was trying to get away from, in a lot of ways, Will thought, his lips twisting in a wry smile. The relationship with Hannibal was meant to keep him from feeling so alone, to make him more sociable.

It was working, in some ways. He felt marginally more comfortable around people now; that was one of the many things that Hannibal had done for him.

But he still needed his privacy, his alone time. He always would.

His glance wandered to the window, and he sat back in his desk chair with a sigh. It was a long time until morning; he'd sit here a long time waiting for the sun.

Which was ridiculous, as he needed to sleep -- but he didn't feel like going upstairs, getting into bed, and then spending the rest of the night tossing and turning, wondering when the next victim who looked like him was going to turn up.

Something told him that it was going to happen. Whoever this killer was, he wasn't going to stop until he had achieved his ultimate goal.

And his ultimate goal was, in the end, getting to Will.

The thought made him shudder; just knowing that a serial killer was focused on _him_ was more than a little disquieting, even frightening.

He had already given up his walks in the woods; he still let the dogs out and let them wander around, of course, but he didn't go wandering after them. They never stayed away long, and they never went far from the house. He didn't worry about them.

But he had taken Hannibal's warning to heart; as well as he knew these woods; if he was harmed in some way, he was too far from civilization for anyone to come to his aid.

Oh, he was only a 15-minute drive from the nearest town, but that was still too far away for help to get here in time if he was bleeding out rapidly. And if an assailant took his phone, then he would be done for. There would be no way for him to summon help.

He wasn't going to lose his life to some crazy killer. He'd seen it happen to too many other people, and he didn't intend to join their ranks.

He would be careful -- and he _would_ catch this murderer.

But it would have to be done in the sunlight, Will told himself. He wouldn't be able to capture this monster in the darkness; he was sure of that.

This man had already proven that he acted at night, under cover of darkness. Will would have to wait for the sun to catch him, to see him in the light and know who he was. He knew _why_ this man killed, or at least he thought he did. Now it was time to discover the _who_.

He would do so, somehow. He had no doubt that sooner or later -- hopefully sooner -- he would track down this killer. He wouldn't stop until he did.

He wasn't going to let this man continue to overshadow his life.

Slowly, he got to his feet and clicked off the lamp, then headed up the stairs to his bedroom. There was no sense in sitting down here all night.

But even as he undressed and climbed into bed, Will knew that he would spend the night unable to sleep, tossing and turning, waiting for the sun that would herald the start of a new day. Sleeping lately had become a near-impossibility for him.

Was it because of all the stress he was under, or was there some underlying reason? He was fairly sure that it was an amalgam of both those things.

He wasn't sure that he wanted to know which one was the strongest.


	29. Intimidated By Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's something lurking outside in the darkness surrounding Will's house.

Will raised his head from the pillow, awakened by an unexpected noise.

There it was again -- a dog barking. It was obviously inside; one of his dogs was barking at something outside the house, apparently, disturbed by a presence.

He wasn't sure that he wanted to know what that presence was, not given all that had been going on in his life lately. But he _had_ to find out; if there was something menacing him and his pets, it was better to face it head-on than to cower in fear.

Besides, he wasn't afraid of whatever it was, he told himself firmly as he kicked the covers back and got out of bed. He had a gun, and he knew how to defend himself.

He wasn't going to let himself be intimidated by the darkness.

Will crept downstairs, not bothering to put on any clothes. If he was going to face something dangerous, he could do it in boxers and a t-shirt.

He had his gun in his hand; he wasn't going to go outside without it. Whatever might be out there, he was going to face it, and if he had to, he'd put a bullet through it. He just hoped that whatever -- or _who_ ever -- it was didn't decide to do just that to him first.

Taking a deep breath, he faced the door where Winston, Lucy, and Buster scratched and whined. All three of the dogs seemed agitated; there was definitely something out there.

Will closed his eyes for just a moment, then took another deep breath as he made the dogs get back from the door. He flung it open, advancing out onto the porch.

He looked around him carefully, but there seemed to be nothing there. He couldn't hear or see anything -- but then, if the killer he was on the trail of _was_ stalking him, then they were probably very good at hiding their presence until it was too late.

He didn't want to move too far from the doorway, but he had to. He advanced another few steps, holding his breath, looking around cautiously in the inky night.

And then almost screamed when a pair of red eyes seemed to loom at him from the darkness.

Will gasped, raising the gun, his finger starting to tighten on the trigger -- until he heard a whine, and then a soft bark that almost sounded like a question.

Relief surged through him, almost making him sag to the ground, feeling as though his weakened knees couldn't hold him up. A dog. That was what _his_ dogs had been so disturbed by. There was a stray dog outside, prowling around outside his house.

It wasn't a killer, after all. It was a hungry stray dog, one who probably wanted food and warmth. Well, that could be easily taken care of.

"Come on, boy," he said, holding out his hand. "Let's get you inside and cleaned up."


	30. Comfort in the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is determined not to let threats frighten him away from his home.

He'd always found comfort in the night before this, Will thought with a sigh.

There had been a time when he'd enjoyed wandering in the woods after dark, going down to the river with a couple of dogs and sitting there in the moonlight.

But now, the night didn't feel comforting any more. It terrified him, knowing that there was someone out there who was killing men who looked like him, and that he could easily be the next victim. He hated that his love of the night was being taken away from him.

He didn't want to lose that fondness for the night. He didn't want to feel as though it had turned against him, become frightening rather than soothing.

He'd always been a nyctophiliac, even when he was a kid. Back then, he had stolen out of his bedroom by way of a large tree that was right by his window; it had been easy to climb out and shimmy down the tree trunk, then go for a long walk when he couldn't sleep.

He had continued that practice into adulthood -- though now, of course, he didn't have to sneak out and go down a tree trunk whenever he wanted to take a night walk.

Now, something other than parental authority kept him inside.

Will hated feeling afraid of the night. It felt as though a part of himself had been shut away, a part that he'd always taken refuge in.

But he couldn't help agreeing with Hannibal that it would be dangerous for him to go outside at night, even here in the relative safety of the forest around his own home. If this mysterious killer was stalking him, then he would more than likely be in those very woods.

Finding Murphy two nights ago when he'd expected to come face-to-face with a psychopathic murderer had been a relief, but he couldn't count on that to happen again.

His new dog was fitting in well with the others; Will had given him a bath, and had taken him to the vet's to have him checked out and get all of his shots. Somehow, seven dogs didn't seem like more than six; he supposed that even ten wouldn't feel like too many.

Especially now that he felt uneasy in his own home after nightfall, he thought bleakly. Ten dogs didn't seem like it was too many at all.

Somehow, he felt that he needed all the company he could get.

Company, or protection? he asked himself. He wasn't entirely sure of the answer to that question; the dogs didn't seem like they could really protect him.

Well, the smaller ones didn't, at least. But the larger dogs, like Winston, and Jasper the Husky mix, were more than capable of taking down anyone who they deemed a threat.

And they would, too, Will thought, petting Winston's head affectionately. The dog looked up at him from where he lay by the couch at Will's feet, those soulful brown eyes fixed on his. It was as though Winston was somehow trying to reassure him.

It was hard to be reassured by a dog, but he _did_ feel better knowing that Winston was looking out for him. This dog was his guardian angel.

Still, maybe he should take Hannibal's words to heart, the words that the other man had spoken the last time Will had left his house after a session.

Hannibal had told him that it would be a good idea for him to stay in Baltimore for a while, as a guest in that very house, where he would be safe and protected. But Will had refused; he hadn't wanted to leave his own home. It just .... didn't feel right.

He didn't want to leave his dogs here alone, even though, as Hannibal said, he could come here during the day and make sure that they were fed, and had time outside.

But he still stubbornly refused to spend nights away from home. It would be turning tail and running, giving up, letting this killer have his way.

He wasn't going to be intimidated or frightened away from his home.

Will couldn't help feeling that was what this killer wanted -- not just to frighten him, but to take away a part of his life, a part that meant something to him.

He had already taken away Will's enjoyment of the night, and that felt like a huge loss. He refused to let this bastard take anything else from him. And somehow, he was going to get his love of the night back, once this murderer was caught and put behind bars.

Once this person was apprehended and he had nothing to fear any more, then he could resume his walks under the night sky with perfect safety.

Will wanted to get that time back; he wanted to be able to step out of his house into the woods, amble down to the river with Winston or one of the other dogs, or maybe even all of them, by his side, and relax with a cold beer by the river's edge under the moon.

It had always been a way of soothing himself, ever since he'd moved here. And now, it was one more path of relaxation and comfort that was lost to him.

But not for good, he told himself firmly. He _would_ get it back.

This was just a temporary loss, until they caught this killer. He didn't doubt that they would; it was one of the FBI's priorities, especially since an agent had been targeted.

Will didn't fool himself into thinking that the FBI cared so much about him -- it was his singular abilities that they prized. That empathic ability was the reason they wanted to protect and preserve him; he knew that he wasn't important to them as a person.

Still, he was important to himself -- and to Hannibal, he thought with a wry smile. Funny how someone who was outside of that protective sphere seemed to care the most.

Maybe he _should_ take Hannibal's invitation to stay at his house seriously; it might be a good thing to get out of Wolf Trap for a while. But he didn't like the idea of running away. The last thing he wanted was to feel -- or be seen as -- a coward.

No, it wouldn't be cowardly to accept that invitation. It would simply be prudent, a way to ensure that he was kept safe, that he wasn't alone and defenseless.

Defenseless? He was hardly that. He knew how to protect himself.

He was safe here, as safe as he'd ever been. Yes, there was a killer who was fixated on him, but that was part of the job he did.

Will took a deep breath, stroking one hand absently over Winston's head. He wasn't going to run away from his home because he was threatened; he was going to stand and fight, protect his own space and his own life. He wasn't going to hide behind anyone else.

His nyctophilia hadn't been destroyed; it was still there, he just couldn't make use of it at the moment. It was best for him if he stayed inside.

But he wouldn't always have to do that, Will told himself, keeping that inner voice strong and firm. It was only until his team could track down this killer who seemed to be so fixated on him and put them in jail. Then he would be free to roam in the night again.

He'd be able to pull the night around him, indulge his love of the darkness, and once again have the night as a source of relaxation and comfort.

Hopefully, that would happen sooner rather than later.


	31. Red Herring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is shocked to learn that the killer who has been murdering men who resemble him has been caught. But is it the right man?

"Will, we've caught the killer."

"What?" Will couldn't keep the shock out of his voice; at first, he wasn't sure who Jack could be referring to. "You've caught the Chesapeake Ripper?" Just his luck, he thought, not to be there when his greatest nemesis was found.

His heart began to hammer when he heard Jack's answer. "No, not the Chesapeake Ripper. We've caught the man who's killing your lookalikes."

"How? When? Where?" Will sat up in bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes, words tumbling out. "Who is he? Did he say why he's been killing guys who look like me? What did he tell you?" He couldn't stop the flow of questions.

"Slow down, Will." Jack's voice was calm, soothing. "He hasn't said much of anything yet, other than insisting he's innocent."

Will frowned, standing up and stretching. "I'll get there as quickly as I can. What do you mean, he's saying that he's innocent? If you caught him, then he can't be. Or are you just going on circumstantials?"

Jack paused for a moment before answering.

"Nothing circumstantial about this." His voice was grim. "We caught him trying to leave the scene, the knife in his hand. He swears that he was knocked out and it was planted on him, but that's a little hard for me to swallow."

It would be hard for anyone to swallow, Will thought. If the guy had been found there at the crime scene, with the bloody knife clutched in his hand ....

Of course, it _was_ possible that this man was an innocent victim and he was indeed telling the truth. But Will wasn't going to believe that until he had cross-examined the man himself, looked into his eyes.

He was going to use every resource at his command to get to the bottom of this, and to find out if this was indeed the killer.

He had to make sure of it, had to know for himself. Then, and only then, would he be able to sleep at night, to know that the nightmare was over and feel safe again. He had to satisfy himself that they had indeed caught the right person.

Something told him that they might have made a mistake.

Will didn't know why he should feel that way; he hadn't even seen this person yet, didn't know anything about how he had been caught.

Only when he sat down face-to-face with the supposed killer and talked to him would he know for sure if this was the person. Somehow, he _knew_ that he would be able to tell if this was the man who had caused him so much anguish.

He didn't know exactly how he would be able to tell; he simply knew that he would. There would be some sign, some flare of recognition.

All he wanted to do was to get to wherever they were holding this man, to sit down at a table across from him and look into his eyes.

Then, he'd _know_. He wouldn't even need his empathy; he would be able to gaze into the suspected killer's eyes and know for certain if this was the man they'd spent so much time and energy looking for.

Why did he feel, then, that there was something wrong with this, that it had somehow been too easy and that this man was simply a red herring?

Something told him that the real killer was still out there.

He wouldn't say as much to Jack, of course. Will knew that he wouldn't be believed, not now, not before he'd sat down and talked to this man, asked the pertinent questions and seen for himself what evidence there was to view.

Even then, Jack might not believe that this wasn't the right person; he might simply want to close the case and put it behind him.

"Will? Are you coming now, or did you want to wait?" Jack's voice cut into his thoughts, interrupting their flow. He blinked again, still feeling somewhat disoriented. This had all happened so quickly that it wasn't quite computing.

He glanced at jis alarm clock, realized that it was nearly three o'clock. But it didn't matter that it was still the middle of the night.

He _had_ to talk to this man, had to find out if they had indeed caught the person who apparently had such a fixation with him. There was no way that he could wait until what others would say was a "decent" hour.

"I'm coming as soon as I can. Getting dressed now."

Even as he spoke, Will thought of something that he needed to ask Jack, something that had just popped into his mind. That would tell him a great deal about whether or not they had the right person before he even met the man.

"Jack, what did he say about me? Did he say why he has such a fascination with me?" Will almost held his breath as he waited for the answer.

"He ...." Jack sounded reluctant to continue, and Will almost wanted to shout at him that whatever he had to say, he needed to spit it out. "Will, he claims to not even know who you are. He won't admit that this is all about you."

Will could almost feel his heart plummeting down to his toes. It couldn't be the right man. This _was_ about him. They'd known that from the beginning.

But still, this was the person they'd caught, the person who they were sure was the killer. He couldn't simply assume that this man was lying, not until he'd seen him up close and personal. He had to have that one-on-one interview.

Once he'd done that, he would _know_.

Somehow, he would know if this was the person who had caused him such fear, the person whose vicious, brutal acts had haunted his dreams.

He would be able to talk to this man, to look into his eyes, to see into his mind and know if this was the killer who had turned his life upside down, or if this was simply a man who had been framed, and the real killer was still at large.

"I'll be there in less than an hour," he told Jack, then clicked off his cell phone and began to get dressed as quickly as he could.

The sooner he got there, the sooner he would know the truth.


	32. Far Too Convenient

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will knows that the man who's been arrested for murder isn't the right person -- and for some reason, he doesn't feel that he should reveal that deduction to Hannibal.

"He's not the one." Will's voice was flat and expressionless.

How could anyone think that this man was capable of committing murder? he asked himself, almost feeling disgusted by the obvious mistake. This person wasn't a killer.

There was nothing in the man's mind, or in his demeanor, that would have led Will to think he was the killer. Just because some "evidence" pointed towards him, that didn't mean that he was the man who had committed all of those atrocious crimes.

It would be easy enough for the actual killer to plant that evidence; in fact, Will was positive that was exactly what had been done. This man was no murderer.

No, this was a studied attempt to throw the authorities off the trail of the actual killer by presenting them with a sitting duck, a scapegoat who was meant to take the blame. Why couldn't the FBI see that, and look past evidence that, to Will's eyes, had obviously been planted?

The easy answer was that they _wanted_ to solve this case and put it away, not have to deal with it any more, and they were being given an easy way out.

Will couldn't believe that the man he saw had killed anyone.

For one thing, the guy looked -- and _felt_ \-- completely confused. Surely if this man was the killer they'd been searching for, he would get some kind of guilty vibe from him.

But no matter how much he tried to open himself to his own feelings, to let his empathy take over, he felt .... nothing. Nothing but confusion, fear, and a growing panic. No guilt, no satisfaction. There was nothing about this man that would ever convince Will he was a killer.

They had the wrong man, but the FBI was convined that the flimsy "evidence" they'd found was enough to put him away for murder, behind bars for the rest of his life.

Will knew that if such a thing happened, it would be a terrible miscarriage of justice. He couldn't go along with it -- not when he knew in his heart that the real killer would still be out there, murdering more men who looked like him, and then eventually tiring of substitutes and coming for him.

But how was he going to make the FBI believe that to be true? They were too happy with the idea that the case was solved, and that they could pat themselves on the back for it.

Will sighed, closing his eyes, feeling frustrated and helpless.

He wasn't ready to convict this man on the flimsy, circumstantial so-called "evidence" they'd found. It felt as though it had too obviously been planted, that this guy had been set up.

Why couldn't anyone else see that? Usually, Jack could look through something like this and immediately see that it wasn't as it should be, but it looked like he was too relieved to have this case come to a quick end to want to look any further, or to even _try_ to see the holes in the evidence.

So he couldn't go to Jack. Hannibal? No, he wasn't even actually involved in the case. He hadn't been called in on it; Will had only talked to him about it in his psychiatric sessions.

Besides, Hannibal would probably just tell him the same thing Jack would -- that he should be grateful to know that he wouldn't be hunted, that the man responsible for his fears had been caught.

Or would he? Will frowned as he contemplated whether or not he should confide how he felt to Hannibal, not as his psychiatrist, but as his lover. It was odd to have someone in his life who played both of those roles. He'd always thought that it was a bad idea to mix the personal and the professional.

Still, he'd done it, and he had no regrets. But could he go to his lover with his worries? For some reason, he didn't think so. Something told him that he should keep what he was thinking to himself.

Would he be able to do that, though? Hannibal could always sense when he was troubled.

"What do you mean?" Jack asked, yanking WIll from his thoughts and back into the present. "Will, we have enough evidence to put this guy away for two lifetimes."

"It's not him," Will said softly, shaking his head. "I can't give you a concrete reason why, Jack, but I just _know_ it. I'm not feeling anything from him that says he's guilty. All I get is a sense of confusion and fear. There's nothing in his mind or his emotions that points to him being the killer."

"So you think he was set up," Jack said, his tone thoughtful. "You know, the evidence _does_ seem like it turned up all of a sudden, when we most needed to find it. Very convenient. Far _too_ convenient."

"Exactly," Will said with a nod. "Whoever the killer really is, he's found a convenient scapegoat to throw us off the track. The FBI is believing exactly what the _real_ killer wants them to believe. And after all this had died down, he'll go back to murdering -- and he'll eventually come after me."

Jack nodded, his face grim. "I think you're right. This doesn't feel right. It's too clean, too easy. Too conveniently timed. But we need to make the killer think we believe that we have the right man."

Will sighed softly, his gaze focused on Jack. "So you think we should keep this guy in custody."

Jack cleared his throat, then nodded again, keeping his voice low. "Just so the real killer will let his guard down and think that we believe his ruse worked. But we'll keep looking for him."

It was Will's turn to nod; he glanced around to make sure that no one had heard the two of them. Nobody was nearby, so he didn't think they had anyone tuning in to their conversation. "Good idea. Maybe he'll slip up and commit another crime too soon, and then we'll have him."

Even as he said the words, he felt sick. That would mean that another man who resembled him would die; he didn't want that to happen, but he didn't know how to prevent it.

"I don't want another death on my conscience," he whispered, shaking his head. "But I don't think there's any way to stop it, at least not yet. If we get lucky, we might be able to, but it's not like we can round up every guy with brown hair and blue eyes who looks even the slightest bit like me and keep them all safe."

"No, we can't," Jack said with a heavy sigh. "We'll just have to hope that the killer doesn't commit another murder any time soon, and that we can find some way to identify him and catch him before he does."

Will had to agree with Jack's assessment. That was really their only hope at this point.

He wasn't going to talk to Hannibal about any of this, he told himself. There was no reason to bring his lover into this; it was his work, and Hannibal didn't need to be involved.

Even though this crossed over from his professional life into the personal side, for some reason, he still didn't want his lover to know just what was going on. Hannibal might want to get too involved in it, and then _he_ could be placed in the line of fire, as well. Will didn't want that.

He didn't stop to search more deeply for all of the reasons that he didn't want Hannibal to know that the man who'd been arrested wasn't the one. He didn't want to examine those reasons too closely.

If he did, something told him that he wouldn't like the answers to any questions he asked himself.


	33. Naked Obsession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will can't put his finger on exactly why he doesn't want Hannibal to know that the man they've captured isn't the killer they're searching for.

"I'm not the one. I swear I'm not."

The man's voice followed Will out of the room; he wanted to turn and assure their prisoner that he knew the man was telling the truth, and that he hadn't committed those murders.

But Jack had told him not to do so, and he was reluctantly following his boss' advice. He wasn't going to cut this guy any slack, even though he desperately wanted to.

He had talked to the man for nearly an hour, going around and around in circles, asking the same questions in different ways -- and he had never once gotten the impression that the person he was talking to was a killer. Not once. This wasn't the man they were looking for. He'd been set up.

Will believed that more than ever now. He had no reason to think otherwise; this man had given him no indication that he even knew who Will was.

The killer was obsessed with Will; he was murdering men who resembled the object of his obsession. He wouldn't have sat there and insisted that he didn't know who Will was.

No one was that good at dissembling, Will told himself wryly.

He got absolutely no impression at all that this man had the slightest clue who he was, or had ever seen him before. He had been framed, plain and simple.

It was wrong of them not to reassure him that he was only under investigation at the moment, and that he wouldn't have to be here for much longer. The guy was terrified enough as it was.

But if they told him that, it was possible that his demeanor would relax, and that would make it more than obvious that he wasn't scared and on edge any longer. If whoever was actually doing this was someone who was behind the scenes at the FBI, then they couldn't take that risk.

He and Jack didn't want anyone to know that they didn't believe this man was the one. For all intents and purposes, they had to make it seem as though they had caught the killer.

Will sighed softly as he turned a corner and headed for the outside of the building, wanting to get away from here. Being in the interrogation rooms always gave him a bad feeling.

He pushed open the front door, breathing in the crisp air and closing his eyes.

"Will." His eyes flew open when he heard that voice, the voice that could only belong to one person. He knew the accent, knew the intonation of those words.

"Hannibal. What are you doing here?" Will asked, knowing that the question was redundant even as he asked it. There was no question as to why Hannibal was here. He wanted to see the man who had supposedly killed people who looked like Will. He wanted to view this supposed murderer with his own eyes.

Should he tell Hannibal about their plan, apprise him of the fact that they didn't think they'd caught the real killer yet? No, he'd promised Jack that he wouldn't tell anyone.

If Jack wanted Hannibal to know, then _he_ could do the telling. This was really Jack's investigation; Will felt that he wasn't in the position to be making any decisions.

After all, he was the victim here, as Jack had so assiduously pointed out to him. _He_ was the one who was being stalked, the one who was the obsessive object of this killer. The thought made Will shudder; he didn't like to think about being in the crosshairs of a murderer's vision.

"Is he in there?" Hannibal asked, his voice very soft. "I can only assume that he is, or _you_ wouldn't be here. And I believe that you have probably just come from seeing him."

Will nodded, wondering just how much he should tell Hannibal at this point.

"Yeah, he's in there," he finally answered, shaking his head. "But I couldn't get anything out of him. He insists that he doesn't know who I am, but we know that isn't true."

Why didn't he want to tell Hannibal the truth? Why did he feel that doing so would only complicate matters further, and put him in even more danger than he was already in?

Why didn't he feel as though he could trust Hannibal? This man was his lover; he should be able to feel that he could put all of his trust in the person that he was sleeping with. But somehow, something held him back from telling Hannibal the entire truth about what he and Jack were planning to do.

The fewer people who knew that they didn't think this man was the killer, the better. Maybe that would allow them to flush out the _real_ killer, and close this case for good.

Hannibal nodded, his brow furrowing. "I wanted to see the man, but I don't really need to. I suppose that I just wanted to set eyes on the person who has been causing you such trouble."

 _The person who is obsessed with you,_ his dark gaze seemed to say.

For a few unnerving moments, Will could swear that he saw that naked obsession on Hannibal's face, in his eyes. He wanted to take a step back from the other man, but he kept himself from doing so.

Trying to seem as though he was simply moving further down the steps, he backed away from Hannibal, shrugging. "If you want to see him, then do it. I don't think it'll do much good, though."

Hannibal glanced towards the doors, then nodded slowly, moving to where Will was now standing a couple of steps below him. "Let's go out to lunch, Will," he said, his voice very soft. "Since you have spent some time talking to this man, you can tell me what insights you've gleaned from him."

Will nodded, feeling trapped, but knowing that there was no way he could claim to be busy, or make excuses not to have lunch with Hannibal. He wasn't good at making up quick lies.

He would just have to be careful what he said, and be sure not to give Hannibal any inkling of what he and Jack were doing. That wasn't going to be easy.

Hannibal was always good at seeing through any smoke screen he tried to put up.

Why did he suddenly feel this way? Why did he feel that he couldn't let Hannibal into this part of his life? Hannibal was his lover; he should be privy to _all_ of Will's secrets.

But somehow, he didn't feel that it was safe. He didn't know just _why_ something in him warned him to back away, but he wasn't going to ignore that little voice in the back of his mind that told him to keep his secrets, and that Hannibal didn't need to know everything that was going on.

He let his boyfriend take his hand and lead him down the steps, following Hannibal to his car and getting in without even glancing back at the building they'd just left.

The world suddenly seemed to be a much colder, more malevolent place.


	34. Subterfuge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal realizes that Will is close to finding out much more than he should know, and resolves to block his boyfriend's progress in the case.

Will was keeping something from him. He could sense it.

Hannibal narrowed his eyes as he studied his boyfriend, watching Will's body language closely. Yes, Will was becoming more guarded, and he seemed nervous.

It was the nervousness that alerted him to the fact that something was wrong. Will had gotten past that weeks ago, after the two of them had become lovers.

Will was never that nervous with him any more. And especially when he was talking about a case, even the one that was so close to him and seemed to make him a victim, focusing as it did on whoever was killing the men who resembled him. Will could even talk about that case without sounding hesitant.

At least, he had until today. Now, it seemed that he was carefully searching for words before he said them, and that he was hesitant to speak about the breakthrough at all.

Did he already know that the man Hannibal had so carefully set up to take the fall for the crimes wasn't the one who had perpetrated them? Had Will seen through the ruse already?

If he had, then there had to be even more subterfuge.

Hannibal didn't like doing this. He wished that he could simply tell Will what he was doing, that he was preserving his lover's uniqueness by doing away with anyone who threatened it.

Of course, those men didn't have what _really_ made Will unique. None of them could look into the eyes of killers and see the crimes being committed.

But that didn't matter. What mattered was that those men reminded others of Will, some of them more than others. They couldn't be allowed to walk this earth along with Will; they took away from the man he loved simply by existing. He had to eliminate them, for Will's own good.

Will wouldn't understand that, of course. He wasn't aware of what Hannibal was trying to do for him, and he would have to stay unaware of it. He had to be kept in the dark.

As much as he _wanted_ to explain all of this to Will, he knew that he couldn't. His boyfriend had certain opinions about the taking of human life that Hannibal didn't always agree with.

So this had to be kept hidden from Will at all costs.

There was no telling what Will might decide to do if he found out. He would more than likely walk away from Hannibal; what was happening would repulse him too much to stay.

It was one of the unfortunate aspects of their relationship that he had to keep some things hidden from his lover. Will had to be protected from them, to keep him safe.

Hannibal sighed, propping his chin on his hand and forcing himself out of his own thoughts and back into the present. He hadn't been paying attention to what Will was saying, listening with only half an ear. He had no idea what his boyfriend was talking about at the moment, and that was unpardonably rude of him.

"I'm sorry, Will," he said, keeping his voice soft and serious. "I didn't hear what you said. I've been off woolgathering in my thoughts, I'm afraid. Could you repeat it?"

Will looked at him strangely; Hannibal realized that this was something he rarely admitted to doing, so of course Will would find it odd that he hadn't been listening.

But he did as Hannibal asked, and repeated what he had been saying. "I said that it's a riddle, Hannibal. It's like this guy wants us to .... to unlock the reason why he's doing this, instead of just breaking down and telling us. He's going to be a tough nut to crack. But we'll eventually get to the bottom of it."

Will was having a hard time looking at him. He wasn't making eye contact, which wasn't unusual for him -- but in this case, he shouldn't be looking away.

Hannibal had noticed that Will rarely ever looked away from him when talking about a case. It was one of the few times that eye contact wasn't difficult for him, when he came out of himself.

Not this time, though. This time, he was looking everywhere but at Hannibal.

Will was lying to him. That came as a surprise, but he knew that it was true. If his boyfriend was telling the absolute truth, he would have no problem looking directly into his eyes.

What was Will hiding? Was there something about the case that Hannibal wasn't being told, some vital truth of it that was being deliberately hidden from him?

If that was so, then Will might know more than he was telling -- and that could be dangerous, both for his boyfriend and for himself. He couldn't let himself be found out -- but he also couldn't let Will, or anyone else connected with the FBI, know the truth. Not if he wanted to remain a free man.

Will was so obviously keeping something from him, and he had to find out what it was. He had to neutralize any belief that he might somehow he involved in this.

What he had to do was to make Will head down a path that was a red herring, keep him busy there until he could come up with some other way to throw suspicion away from him.

That wouldn't be easy to do. Will was too good at his job to be easily distracted.

He would have to come up with some sort of riddle that would keep Will and the FBI running in circles, and apparently he would also have to find another person to take the fall for what he had done.

Will had seen through this little deception far too easily. Perhaps he had been too hasty, thrown together his "evidence" too quickly. He should have taken more time, been more careful.

Ah, well, Hannibal told himself, he had been able to nip this in the bud, thankfully, before Will and the FBI had delved too deeply into this situation. He would be able to correct the error, and the next person that he set up to take the blame would be far more carefully framed.

He was, after all, good at subterfuge. He wouldn't still be free and undiscovered if he wasn't. As good as Will was, he wasn't good enough to put all of the pieces together this time.

A part of him didn't like deceiving his boyfriend, but Hannibal knew that he had no choice. Not if he intended to have a future of freedom and avoid being put behind bars for the rest of his life.

He would never allow that to happen. It was simply not an option.

He had no idea just what sort of riddle he would produce for WIll and Jack and the rest of the FBI to puzzle over, but he would make sure that it kept them busy for a while.

Will wasn't going to find out the truth, Hannibal told himself firmly. He could be diverted, and led down a winding path that would ensnare him until the truth could be completely obliterated.

He didn't need to know the truth. Will would be much happier, and much better off, if he kept living in the world that he now existed in, the world that Hannibal was carefully creating around him. He never need know of all that Hannibal had done to preserve his unique identity.

He smiled and nodded, acting as though he didn't realize anything was wrong. If Will was going to dissemble, then he would do the same, until he had found out just what his lover was hiding.

"I agree that you need to keep at him, Will," he said softly, reaching across the table to take the younger man's hand in his own. "Whatever you plan to do, you know that I'll help you with it."

Was it his imagination, or did annoyance -- and fear -- flash into Will's expression?

He couldn't be sure, but he thought that was what he saw. If that was so, then he would have to come up with some sort of riddle soon, to send Will and his FBI cohorts on a wild-goose chase.

And he would also have to come up with a few creative ways to discipline his lover in the bedroom, to bring Will a bit further under his control. Hannibal couldn't hold back a smile at that idea; it was something he had been wanting to do, and he'd simply been waiting for the right time.

Oh yes, he would take firmer control over Will, both in and out of bed. It was time for that -- and it would be amusing to see Will run in circles and know that he would get nowhere.

Suddenly, Hannibal found himself looking forward to the future with great anticipation.


	35. Keeping Things To Himself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will doesn't know why, but he doesn't want to let Hannibal know that the man they've arrested in the case he's working on isn't the killer they're looking for.

Will sat across from Hannibal, resting his hands on his thighs.

He tried to avoid looking at his boyfriend, knowing that if he did, Hannibal would see the subterfuge in his gaze. He wasn't good at hiding things from his lover.

He was usually good at dissembling; he had a poker face that few people could see through. But Hannibal had a way of passing by all of that, and cutting to the chase.

Hannibal knew him in ways that no one else ever had or ever could. Will had let this man have glimpses into his soul,and maybe that had been a mistake. It had given Hannibal the ability to see through him, to know when he was holding things back, and this wasn't a time when he needed to deal with that.

His lover was silent as he regarded Will, a slight frown between his brows. Will knew that he was going to ask what was going on; it was inevitable.

Hannibal _had_ to know that he was hiding something. His boyfriend was far too astute, and knew him far too well, not to realize that fact.

And he himself hadn't been good at hiding it. Not this time.

Hannibal finally sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs and gazing into Will's eyes. Will squirmed, wishing that he was anywhere but here.

"Will, what are you not telling me?" Hannibal asked, his voice very soft. "I know there's something bothering you, but I don't think that you've lied to me."

"Lied by omission, probably," Will said before he could stop the words from coming out. "It's not that I want to," he added hastily, holding up a hand. "But you know that there are things about my cases I can't tell you, Hannibal. You're not a consultant, and some things are on a need-to-know basis."

"And there are things that I don't need to know, as I'm not a confidant of the FBI," Hannibal finished for him, sighing and sitting back. "I suppose you're right."

Will knew that Hannibal didn't believe for a second that he was right. He could tell that the other man was burning to know what he was keeping back and not talking about.

He _could_ tell Hannibal, of course. Maybe he should.

But something told him to exercise caution, to not tell Hannibal that the man they'd arrested for the murders of men who resembled Will wasn't the right person. 

That little voice in his head insisted that Hannibal shouldn't know, that there would be dire consequences in the future if he did. And for once, Will had decided to listen to that voice.

He didn't know why there was such a strong insistence in his mind on Hannibal not knowing all that was going on in the case. After all, this man was part of his personal life, and he probably had a right to know anything that could have some kind of bearing on his lover's safety.

But for some obscure reason, he didn't want Hannibal to know. He wanted to keep this between Jack and himself, even though he couldn't put his finger on exactly why.

Hannibal couldn't have anything to do with the person who was killing men that looked like Will. It wasn't something he would do. He wasn't _that_ obsessed with Will.

Or was he? The thought made Will shiver, and he wondered if Hannibal had seen that involuntary movement. It wasn't that he didn't trust his boyfriend. Of course not. If he didn't trust Hannibal, then they wouldn't be involved. But there were some things that he needed to keep to himself.

He just didn't want to drag Hannibal into all of this, not if he could help it. He wanted to try to keep his personal life out of his work. It was just better that way.

That was a lame excuse, and he knew it. But no matter how much he told himself that he _should_ tell Hannibal about the man they'd arrested, he couldn't make himself do it.

Hannibal didn't need to know. At least, not yet. Maybe he never would.

"I know that you're used to hearing about my cases, but Jack and I don't think anyone outside of the team who's working on this particular case needs any information," Will said, sounding apologetic.

He wasn't going to tell Hannibal that the case he was referring to was the one that concerned him in a personal sense. Again, it was another thing that Hannibal didn't need to know.

Anyone else would probably make a strong case for him to tell Hannibal everything about the case, to keep him informed and updated. After all, Hannibal was his lover, so he had a personal stake in finding the man who was killing people that resembled Will, too. He would be concerned.

So why did he feel like this? Why did that little voice in his head keep telling him that letting Hannibal know anything about this case would be a bad idea?

Will didn't know, and he had no idea why he was paying such heed to that voice. But he'd made his choice, and that meant not telling Hannibal any more than he had to.

Hannibal nodded, seeming to shift his inner focus to something else.

"So, if you can't talk about a case that's bothering you, can you tell me about the progress in the case of the man you've arrested for the murders of those men who resemble you?" he asked.

Will swallowed hard, wishing that Hannibal wasn't quite so astute. Did his boyfriend realize that the case he'd asked about was the very one that was bothering Will so much?

No, he couldn't know that. Hannibal was fishing, searching for what was getting under Will's skin, and then he would slowly put surely pull out the explanation. Will knew that he couldn't let his love do that. He had to keep the truth about this case from Hannibal at all costs.

It didn't matter that he wasn't entirely sure _why_ he wanted so badly to keep this from Hannibal. He just knew that he _had_ to, no matter how it was done.

"We've got him in custody, even though he keeps insisting that he's not the man," Will said, trying to sound nonchalant. "But we'll get a confession out of him. It'll just take some time, that's all."

He hoped that Hannibal didn't realize how tense his body had suddenly gone.

Hannibal wasn't touching him, but he was close enough to observe body language, and he was very good at divining people's feeling from that. Will knew that he had to be careful.

He leaned back in his chair, feigning comfort. He desperately needed Hannibal to think that he was relaxed, that this conversation didn't have him on edge.

Hannibal seemed to accept what he'd said; he was nodding, leaning back in his chair in a mirror of Will's posture. But Will had the feeling that Hannibal would keep digging, subtly, not letting Will know just what he was doing. He would keep on searching for the information he wanted.

He would have to try his best to keep that information to himself, and hope that he didn't let anything slip. Because he didn't want Hannibal involved in this investigation.

Will didn't know just why he wanted his boyfriend to stay out of this. But something told him that if Hannibal was in any way involved, they'd never find the actual killer.

For now, he'd keep things to himself, no matter how hard that might prove to be.


	36. One Perfect Diamond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal realizes that he might have to change his plans for drawing Will into the darkness that surrounds him.

Will would never understand why he was doing this.

Hannibal sighed softly as he went over everything that he and Will had discussed, coming to some conclusions that he knew Will wouldn't like.

It had been obvious that his young lover was trying to hide something from him. Hannibal didn't know exactly what that might be, but he could make an educated guess.

Will and his team had probably already realized that the man they had arrested for the murders wasn't the person who had actually committed them, and for some reason, Will didn't want him to know that fact. Will wanted him to think that they believed the man to be guilty.

Why would his boyfriend hide that from him? Hannibal frowned, reluctant to admit that he knew the only reason for WIll to do something like that.

Will might suspect _him_. Will might have some inkling of what he had been doing, even though Hannibal was sure that he couldn't know the reasons _why_.

How could he? Will couldn't see into his mind.

Even with that marvelous empathic ability that Will possessed, he couldn't see _everything_. Hannibal knew that he wouldn't want that -- and neither would Will.

It was hard enough for Will to control the empathic ability that he had, and to keep himself sane. Hannibal knew that there were times when it tore him up inside, and he was truly sorry that Will had to deal with such stress. But at the same time, he found it utterly fascinating.

He was sure that at some point, Will was going to unravel. He couldn't get into killers' minds the way that he did, on a nearly daily basis, and not lose a part of himself.

He wanted to be there for the young man when that unraveling happened -- so that he could guide Will down a new road, give him a place to go where he could discover himself, discover facets of who he was that Hannibal thought were only now starting to come to the surface.

Then, and only then, would he be able to tell Will what he had done, and who he really was. At that point, Will might possibly be able to start to understand him.

Even then, he wasn't sure that Will would fall in with his plans.

He had it all worked out -- but Will's reaction was the one thing that he couldn't count on. He didn't know how his lover would react to discovering everything about who he was.

Would Will still want to stay with him? Or would he be repulsed and pull away, leave him and turn him in to the FBI and Jack Crawford? Those were questions he couldn't answer.

Hannibal knew that there was no way he could anticipate Will's actions; as well as he knew the young man, he also knew that Will could be unpredictable. He had a strong sense of honor and justice, and he would cling to that, no matter how Hannibal tried to make him see another direction.

He wanted Will to fall in with his plans, but his boyfriend was an unknown factor. Hannibal knew that he would have to ease Will into the idea slowly and carefully.

He wanted to make Will his one perfect diamond, wrought in the image of himself. He wanted Will to open himself up to the darkness that was hidden in his soul, to embrace that darkness fully.

That wasn't going to be an easy feat, and he knew it. Will had always pushed that darkness away, fought against it, believe that it was wrong and that he wanted no part of it. Hannibal wanted to show him a different path, to make him realize that the darkness could be a good thing.

After all, he himself had embraced that darkness within himself long ago. He had let it take him over, and he was now completely comfortable with it.

In fact, that darkness was so much a part of him that he couldn't imagine any other way of life now. And he wanted Will to come to that point, as well. He wanted to share that darkness.

It could be such a beautiful thing. Will just had to realize that fact -- and embrace it.

The two of them, working together, with Will being shaped and formed into the perfect diamond that Hannibal knew he could be. For him, it would be a dream come true.

Until he had met Will, he'd never thought that he could have anyone in his life who could become the image of himself, who could be shaped into what he wanted them to be. He had thought that he would always be alone, doomed to never find anyone who could understand him.

But once Will Graham had burst into his horizons, Hannibal had realized that Will was exactly the person he'd been looking for -- and he had begun to act accordingly.

He'd had to kill those other men, and he would keep killing them. They resembled Will, even if it was in some oblique way. They took away from his singularity; they marred Hannibal's image of his perfect diamond. No one could be allowed to look like Will, or to be anything like him.

Those people had to be obliterated, taken out of the big picture. They had no right to infringe upon Will's uniqueness, and they had to be dealt with.

Though of course, it would be much harder to do that now.

He would have to find someone else to take the fall for him, someone who wouldn't be as easily seen through as this last fellow. It was obvious that Will knew he wasn't the one.

Will's empathy had probably led him to that conclusion, Hannibal thought with a frown. He would have to figure out a way to beat that sixth sense of Will's, to lull it into complacence.

His one perfect diamond had a few flaws, and that was one of them. Will had a conscience, one that would never let him follow the path of darkness that Hannibal wanted to send him down. That conscience would have to be quieted, made to see that it didn't always have a place in Will's life.

Could that be done? Hannibal had to wonder if it was possible. Will was such a _good_ person, and maybe that was one of the things that made Hannibal want to control him.

Yes, it was. He wanted to see that goodness turned to the dark side; he wanted the satisfaction of knowing that _he_ had done that. He wanted to know that he could subvert Will.

If he could do that, then it would be a great achievement indeed.

But he would have to do it without destroying the perfection that he saw in Will Graham. That, he had to admit, would be harder than he might have first envisioned.

He _would_ achieve that goal, Hannibal vowed to himself. He already had a plan forming in the back of his mind, and it wouldn't be long before he would put it into motion.


	37. His Obsession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will finally realizes the truth -- but he has no way to prove it to anyone.

He watched in horror as Hannibal garrotted a man. _A man who looked like him._

Will couldn't believe what he was seeing, but it was playing out before his own eyes. He couldn't deny the truth of it; he had to accept the facts.

Hannibal was the person who was killing men that looked like him. It was _Hannibal_ , his friend, his lover, the man who he was emotionally involved with.

The body dropped to the ground, and Hannibal leaned over it, as though he was studying the young man. Will wanted to scream, to cry out, but he couldn't make a sound. He was frozen to the spot, watching helplessly, knowing that there was nothing he could do to stop what was happening.

Hannibal didn't turn to look at him; he merely went about his business as though he didn't know Will was there. He was pulling a knife from his coat pocket now ....

Will awakened with a start, his eyes snapping open. It took him a few moments to realize that he hadn't actually _seen_ those events unfolding; they were only in his mind.

 _A dream_ , he told himself. _Just a horrific dream. Not reality at all._

He took one shaky breath, then another, knowing that even though it was only a dream, that dream would stay with him; he wouldn't be able to stop thinking about it.

It had looked so _real_. His mind didn't want to believe that it was a dream; it had looked and felt too realistic, as though he was watching an even as it unfolded.

And suddenly, with no doubt in his mind, Will _knew_ that it had been true. He wasn't just having a dream; he had somehow seen what was happening with crystal clarity, been taken to the place and time of one of the murders that had been disturbing all of his waking and dreaming hours lately.

Hannibal was the killer. _Hannibal_ was the one doing this. It hadn't been a dream; it had been some kind of vision, the truth being revealed to him at last.

All right, so that might sound a little crazy. But he knew in his heart of hearts that it was true; Hannibal had been the one all along. He was killing all of these young men who resembled Will.

He didn't have to ask himself why; he already knew the answer to that question. Hannibal had given him the answer during one of their talks -- and he'd even repeated that answer when they'd been in bed, though his lover hadn't realized it at the time, and neither had he.

Will was Hannibal's obsession. For some bizarre reason that probably only made sense in his own mind, Hannibal was furthering that obsession by getting rid of men who looked like him.

That had to be the answer that he'd been seeking all along, WIll told himself, sitting up in bed and running a shaking hand through his hair. It had been staring him right in the face.

But _why_ was he being given this ability to see the truth _now_?

Maybe anyone else might find it flattering to be the object of their lover's obsession, but Will didn't. It was creepy, and it was more than a little disturbing.

Most of all, it was frightening. How could Hannibal think that he could get away with going to such lengths to preserve his obsession? Did he really think that he could continue to kill like this?

Of course he did. Hannibal thought that he could do anything he wanted with impunity; he thought he was untouchable, not only because of the fact that he had far too much hubris, but because he was in a relationship with an FBI agent. He thought that Will would protect him, keep him safe.

Will knew that he couldn't do that. He couldn't hide what Hannibal was doing from the authorities, now that he knew the truth. He only had one problem -- and it was a big one.

How did he convince anyone else of the truth? He had nothing to give them, only what he'd seen in a vision, which any other person would brush off as a horrible dream.

But it wasn't just a dream, and Will knew it. He'd seen the truth.

His eyes had been opened at last. He wasn't Hannibal's boyfriend, or even his lover. He was his obsession, and that fact was frightening in itself.

Hannibal wasn't someone who was completely safe to be around. He'd known that from the beginning; being his lover was a little like playing croquet with live bombs. It was exciting, of course, but at any moment, something could blow up in his face, with catastrophic effects.

Well, it seemed that was what had happened now, Will told himself as he went down the stairs to the kitchen. He needed a stiff drink. Maybe a few of them.

The question was, now that he knew the truth, what did he do about it?


	38. The Alcohol Talking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will knows that he has to call Jack and let him know the truth about Hannibal.

He needed a drink. Preferably more than one.

Will stumbled to the kitchen, going directly to the cabinet where he kept a few bottles of liquor and taking out the first one he grabbed. It happened to be the Scotch.

He didn't bother to pour the liquid into a glass; his hands were shaking too much to do so. It was all he could do to open the bottle and drink directly from it.

Making his way back into the kitchen, he collapsed on the couch, taking another long drink from the bottle. What was he supposed to do now? He knew the truth; he couldn't continue his relationship with Hannibal. He doubted that he could look his lover in the eye again.

He doubted that he would _ever_ be able to look at Hannibal again without seeing that murder in his mind's eye. It was imprinted there, a memory that would never go away.

It hadn't been a dream. Will didn't know why he was so sure of that, but he was. He knew that what he'd seen was what Hannibal had been doing tonight.

He didn't doubt for a second that his lover was a murderer.

Will had no idea why he was so sure of that; only that there was something about Hannibal that he'd never managed to touch, a part of him that stayed hidden in shadows.

He'd never really known Hannibal, in far too many ways. He had never been able to get inside the other man's mind, as Hannibal had gotten into his. He'd known his lover on the surface -- and their bodies had been intimate. That was all. It had all been .... well, superficial.

Will took another long drink, not caring that he would be good and drunk long before he finished the bottle. He _wanted_ to be drunk. At the moment, he _had_ to be.

He'd have to call Jack Crawford and tell him what he knew, what he had seen in his dreams. And then convince Jack that it was true and _not_ just some vision.

That wouldn't be easy to do. Jack wouldn't be able to take that to a court of law; saying that Will had seen something in a dream and expecting them to make a leap of faith and arrest Hannibal on nothing more than that would more than likely get Jack -- and himself -- laughed out of the FBI.

But what more could they do? Hannibal was far too clever -- and too careful -- to allow himself to be caught. That was why no one would ever have suspected him.

What he had to do was get some _proof_ that Hannibal was the killer.

And he had to find out _why_ , Will told himself. He had to know why his lover was doing this, had to know why he was the object of such a fixation.

What he had to focus on now was telling Jack what he'd seen, and hoping that somehow, he could come up with a way to get Hannibal to confess his actions.

That wasn't going to be easy, Will told himself, taking another long drink of Scotch and running a hand through his unruly curls. Jack had to have some kind of solid evidence to bring Hannibal to justice, and Will knew that getting Hannibal to confess would be like pulling teeth. It might not even be possible.

But he had to try, he told himself, getting to his feet and going into the kitchen for two glasses. A dream wasn't going to cut it, not with the FBI. He needed _proof_.

First, he would call Jack, ask him to come here, and they would have a drink -- or a few -- while he told the other man what he knew. It wasn't something he could bring up in the office.

Was he in any shape now to call Jack, though?

Will sighed, knowing that he needed to call his boss and talk about this. He just wished that he hadn't decided to get a bit drunk first -- he didn't want Jack to think that he was making this up.

He contemplated putting his head under cold water, but he doubted that would do the trick. He would simply have to wait until he had sobered up to call Jack.

If Jack thought that it was the alcohol talking, he'd dismiss everything Will said. The last thing he needed was for his boss to sit there looking at him and shaking his head, a small smile on his lips, thinking that Will was drunk and had no idea what he was saying.

Once he made Jack realize that what he was saying was true, once he pointed out all the things that Hannibal did and said that were suspicious, he was sure that Jack would believe him.

As long as Jack realized that it wasn't merely the alcohol talking, that Will really _had_ seen a prophetic vision, he'd be more than willing to open his mind and let himself believe.

When Jack heard this, he would also probably be in need of more than one drink.


	39. Crashing Down To Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe it was inevitable that Will's liaison with Hannibal should have come to such an abrupt end.

This was inevitable. He should have known it from the start.

Hadn't there always been a little voice in the back of his mind warning him that something about Hannibal didn't feel quite right? Hadn't he always known there was something off about his lover?

It was one of the things he'd always felt a little odd about, but he had always shrugged the feeling away. Now he knew that he shouldn't have let himself do that.

He didn't doubt that Hannibal was the one who had been killing all these men who resembled him; his dream hadn't been merely a dream, but a vision of the truth. But how did he get other people to believe that? How could he convince any person who could help him that his dream had been prophetic?

Jack might believe him, but that was a 50/50 proposition. Jack might also take one look at him and tell him that he should have his head examined, that he was going crazy.

He was stone cold sober now, and he still hadn't called Jack. He hadn't been able to bring himself to pick up that phone and let anyone else know what he did.

He didn't want to put the inevitable end of his relationship with Hannibal into motion. 

The gravity of the situation had brought him back down to earth with a crash, out of the orbit that his relationship with Hannibal usually put him into.

He had been so happy with that relationship, so sure that he had finally found someone who understood him, someone who loved him. But he had been wrong.

Obsession wasn't love -- and it was more than obvious that Hannibal was obsessed with him. What else would possess him to kill men who looked like Will? What reason could he possibly have for doing so? Will didn't know what his lover's reasons were, but he knew that he couldn't accept them.

He couldn't condone murder, not for any reason. Yes, he could see killing someone in self-defense, but that had nothing to do with the crimes that Hannibal had committed.

What his lover had done was cold-blooded murder -- and not just one, but several. He couldn't remember just how many victims there had been, but there were a lot.

Will didn't want to see any more victims in the future. He knew that he had to tell Jack about this, to make sure that the other man believed him, and that they had to put Hannibal behind bars. As much as it hurt, he had to sever the emotional ties with the man who he had thought he loved.

How could he have equated love with someone who could commit murders so coldly? How could he have thought that Hannibal returned his feelings?

Obsession wasn't love. It was the frightening side of love, the side that crossed over into darkness and madness. Will wanted no part of that kind of love.

He wanted to back away, to get out _now_ , before he became any more entangled.

Maybe it was inevitable that he had lost his heart to Hannibal. But gravity and inevitability had brought him to this point, falling from the clouds down to earth with a crash.

He had to get out of this relationship with his heart and his mind intact. He couldn't let his tender feelings for the man he'd been involved with cloud his judgment.

Hannibal had committed murders, too many of them to count -- and who knew if there had been others in the past? The thought sent a chill through Will's entire body. What if he wasn't the first object of Hannibal's obsession? What if there had been others before him?

If that was so, then Hannibal was a much more dangerous man than anyone realized. And Will had to make sure that he was put behind bars, for the safety of society.

His heart told him that he might be making a mistake. But his head was clearer than his heart could ever be, and he knew that he would be doing the right thing.

It wasn't easy, but he had to make that break. Now. Before it was too late.

Slowly, he reached for his cell phone. He was sober now; it was time to call Jack, tell him that they needed to meet here, at his house, and then take a shower before Jack got here.

He had to think of a way to present what he knew to his boss, and to talk Jack into setting a trap for Hannibal to take him down to stop these murders once and for all.

Will's hand trembled as he picked up his phone and began to dial Jack's number.

His discovery had brought him crashing down to earth, and he wondered if he would ever touch the clouds again.


	40. Only When I Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will finds it hard to accept the fact that his lover is a killer, though he knows that he can't fight against the truth forever.

He had to wonder if he would ever feel lighthearted and happy again.

He'd talked to Jack, told him what he had seen in his dreams. And, surprisingly, Jack had agreed with him. He had said that Hannibal was already a suspect.

When Will had asked why, Jack had given him a clear and concise answer, and Will wondered why he hadn't thought along the lines that Jack did long before now.

Jack had told him that he'd suspected Hannibal from the first few murders, since all of the dead men resembled Will, some of them to an alarming degree. As far as Jack knew, the only person who was _that_ obsessed with Will was Hannibal, and he had started to look into the other man's past.

It seemed that wherever Hannibal had lived and worked in the past, several murders had been committed. None of them had been traced to Hannibal, but Jack had become suspicious.

He hadn't been able to prove anything, but he was sure that Hannibal was responsible for several murders. And he thought that Hannibal was behind these present killings.

Will hadn't wanted to agree, but he'd been forced to do so.

The evidence was irrefutable. Hannibal had murdered these men, probably because of his overwhelming obsession with the man who was his lover.

He didn't want to believe it. He didn't want to think that the man he had given himself to, the man he'd made love with, fallen in love with, could be a cold-blooded killer.

But the evidence was conclusive. The only person who could be killing these men was Hannibal, even though Jack had no solid, concrete proof of what he'd done. Still, Will couldn't turn away from what he knew in his heart had to be the correct conclusion. Hannibal was a murderer.

Had he killed other people, as Jack said? Or were these his first killings, brought on by an unhealthy obsession with the person he was intimately involved with?

They would probably never know, unless Hannibal confessed. And even though Jack had his suspicions, Will wasn't at all convinced that those past murders could be laid at Hannibal's feet.

Will hated having the knowledge; he wanted to push it away, to throw it back like a fish he'd caught that was too small to keep. But this was no small knowledge; this was huge, this was something that would impact a lot of lives, particularly his own as well as Hannibal's.

It hurt to think. It hurt to breathe. It was as though a burning sensation had settled into his lungs, searing him from the inside out each time he took a breath.

It only burned when the tried to breathe; it only hurt when he let himself think of what he knew. It was so hard to wrap his head around this knowledge, to admit that it was the truth.

It was even harder to wrap his heart around it.

Hannibal was a killer. The man he loved had committed several murders, and if he wasn't stopped as soon as possible, he would kill again. Will was sure of that.

He'd sensed that fact when he'd gone into the killer's mind -- _Hannibal's_ mind -- at the crime scenes, utilizing his empathy to find out more about the murders.

How could he believe this about Hannibal? How could he so wholeheartedly concur with Jack's belief that the man he loved was a killer, that he had committed all of these murders? How could he turn against the man who held his heart, go from love to horror in a matter of moments?

Because of that dream, he told himself. The dream that hadn't been a dream at all, but a vision of what Hannibal truly was. A monstrous, cold-blooded murderer.

He didn't want to believe it, but he had no choice -- because in his heart, he knew that it was the truth. He had given his heart to someone he'd never really known.

It would be so hard to take that heart back, but he had to do it.

He would have to live with that burning in his heart and soul every time he thought of Hannibal, with the regrets for what might have been. He had no choice in the matter.

Will knew that his heart was going to feel that burn every time he took a breath, for the rest of his life. And he knew that the flames would eventually turn his heart and soul into nothing more than ashes.


	41. Still Wonder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will wonders if Hannibal was ever truly in love with him, or only obsessed.

He had to wonder how it had come to this.

Will sighed softly, looking down at his hands clasped in his lap. He almost wished that he was sitting in the chair across from Hannibal's, in one of their impromptu sessions.

But that would never happen again. Hannibal was behind bars, and he was sitting here in his own living room, going over his part in that arrest.

He hadn't been there when it had happened; Jack had refused to let him be a part of it. He didn't want Hannibal to know that it was Will's vision, his dream, that had led the FBI to get a search warrant for Hannibal's house. And he wouldn't tell Will just how he'd managed to lawfully procure that warrant.

Somehow, he had done it, and from what he had told Will about the search, what they had found in Hannibal's basement was one of the grisliest sights any of them had ever seen.

There had been body parts everywhere, Jack had said. And, worst of all, they had found some of those parts stored in the refrigerator -- as though they were _food_.

Will had felt like throwing up when he'd heard those words.

Was his former boyfriend a cannibal? Had he actually _eaten_ the body parts of the men he'd murdered? And had there been other victims, as well?

Worse, had he actually _fed_ people to his dinner party guests? Will didn't want to think of how often he'd gone to those dinner parties, and how good the food had been. Just thinking of it made him want to be sick; he had to take his mind off that aspect of the case.

It was bad enough that the man he loved was behind bars for the rest of his life, and that _had_ had been most of the reason for Hannibal being there.

He had to admit the truth to himself; he still loved Hannibal.

In spite of all that his former lover had done, he couldn't simply turn off his emotions. He knew that he had to put them into the past, but he needed time to mourn first.

He had to allow himself the time to mourn for a relationship that he'd had so much hope for, one that he had believed in with all of his heart and soul.

It hurt to know that all of those hopes he'd had for the two of them, all of his dreams for their future, would never come true now. It was almost unbearably painful to realize what a mistake he'd made, how the wool had been pulled over his eyes as to what Hannibal was really like.

The thing that was uppermost in his mind was the idea that Hannibal had never really loved him, that he had never been anything more than a plaything to his former lover.

Was that true? Will wondered. Had Hannibal truly been in love with him, or only obsessed? He would never know; it was a question that he could never ask.

Years from now, he knew, he would still wonder about that. He would spend his life with that question haunting him, a question that would never be answered, a question that he would go to his grave asking. Even if he he met another man and fell in love again, he would still always wonder.

That burning question would always be in his heart until he got a definitive answer. And he was absolutely sure that Hannibal would never give him the answer he needed.

No, Hannibal would do what he had always done -- he would smile and give some kind of oblique answer, playing mind games and enjoying every moment of it.

He'd always loved to do that, and Will had never been entirely comfortable with it.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized that there had been a lot of things about his former boyfriend that he wasn't entirely comfortable with.

They were little things, things that he had ignored, telling himself that it was just Hannibal's way, and it was something that he had to learn to put up with if he wanted their relationship to last. He had deliberately closed his eyes to those problems, rather than talking with Hannibal about them.

Really, he hadn't wanted to admit that they had any problems. He had been like an ostrich, burying his head in the sand, turning a blind eye to what he didn't want to see.

But now, he was glad that his eyes had been opened. 

Their relationship had always been doomed, given Hannibal's obsession with him. Obsession wasn't love -- and Will couldn't help but wonder why he hadn't realized long ago that Hannibal had crossed that line.

He would always wonder if Hannibal had ever loved him; that was a question that would never quite leave his mind, even if he never had a definitive answer.

Will sighed softly, closing his eyes and swallowing hard. He would have to push those thoughts away; he couldn't let himself linger on them. If he did, then he would drive himself crazy, and that was the last thing he needed. Too many of the people around him already thought he'd gone around the bend.

He would have to go through the rest of his life without the man who he'd thought was going to be his salvation, and had instead turned out to be his greatest mistake.

Would he still wonder whether their relationship could have worked if Hannibal hadn't been so obsessive when he was old and grey? He'd really just have to wait and see.

Though it was a question that he wasn't sure he wanted to be answered.


	42. That Day Hasn't Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will wonders if he'll ever stop feeling regret over how things have ended with Hannibal.

"You shouldn't feel guilty, Will. You did the right thing."

Jack's voice still echoed in his head; it wouldn't go away. But even the words of the man he worked for, words that Will knew were sincere, couldn't completely erase his guilt.

Yes, he'd done the right thing, in some ways. He had put a killer behind bars; he had protected society. Hannibal would never again harm an innocent person.

But at the same time, he had betrayed someone who had called him a friend. He had turned Hannibal in, let the police take him away in handcuffs. Maybe he should have gone about things in a more roundabout way, should have tried to minimize the publicity.

Not that he would have been able to do that once Hannibal's crimes were known to the media, he thought, a wry smile twisting his lips. Freddie Lounds would have made sure of that.

She had painted him as a kind of hero, putting his own life at risk to capture a dangerous serial killer. He hadn't really done that. He'd found out about Hannibal by accident.

He still didn't know if he wished he would never have found out.

Would he and Hannibal have been able to make a life together? He seriously doubted that. At some point, he would have gone from being Hannibal's obsession to being his victim.

Will didn't doubt that for a moment. He knew that Hannibal was volatile, in spite of his calm surface demeanor. All he'd have had to do was anger the man once, and he would be dead.

Hannibal was a serial killer. His mind didn't work like a normal person's did; he had no compassion for others, no sense of being connected to the rest of the human race. That would never change. It was wired into his state of being; it was part of the person he was and always had been.

There was no use wishing that he and Hannibal could have worked out, no use wishing that things had been different. They were what they were, and there was no going back.

But still, Will couldn't help feeling that if only he had done some things differently, if only he had loved Hannibal more, then maybe, just maybe, they could have worked.

Maybe Hannibal could have turned his back on what he had become, turned himself in and paid his debt to society, and then been a free man who could spend the rest of his life with Will. Even as that thought went through his mind, Will wanted to snort at it.

Of course Hannibal would never have been a free man again. How many murders had he committed? Twelve that they knew about, and probably several others that he'd hidden.

He would serve consecutive life sentences for those murders. The FBI would push for the death penalty. He could never have had a life with Hannibal, no matter how things had turned out.

Not unless the murders were kept secret, and Hannibal had stopped.

And that would never have happened. Will sighed as he thought of his last words to Jack before he'd walked out of the other man's office that day.

 _"You tell yourself you did the right thing. And if you say it often enough, one day you might actually believe it."_ Well, that day hadn't come for him. Not yet.

Would it ever come? he asked himself with a sigh. Right now, he didn't think so. He'd done the right thing, and a part of him knew that. But another part of him, one that was more selfish, wanted to rewind and start over, and do the _wrong_ thing, even though he knew that he would eventually regret it.

He felt that he had thrown away the future he wanted, and even though it had been the right thing to do, he knew that not a day would go by when he didn't have regrets.

Will buried his face in his hands, waiting for the tears to come, as he knew they would. He would have a good cry, maybe a few drinks, and then try to sleep tonight.

And he would hope that his regrets didn't follow him into his dreams.


	43. Easy Way Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Falling in love with Hannibal had been the easiest path for him -- but it's one that Will wishes he'd never taken.

"I still find it strange that you fell in love with Hannibal."

Will glanced over at Jack, but he didn't say anything. There really wasn't much of anything to say; sometimes he found that fact hard to believe, too.

But he _had_ fallen in love, and he was still trying to get over the fact that his life had gone down in flames, and there was nothing left but ashes.

He kept telling himself that he could put his life back together, that losing the man he'd loved, turning him in to the authorities, wasn't the end of the world. If only he could believe those words, he thought with an inward sigh. But they still rang false, falling flat upon his ears.

Why had he loved Hannibal? That was an easy question to answer, really. He'd fallen in love because Hannibal had completely accepted him, exactly the way he was.

Hannibal hadn't wanted to change him. He hadn't turned away from Will's abilities; Hannibal hadn't seen him as some kind of freak of nature.

Hannibal had been intrigued by him, interested in all that he was.

Of course, he knew now that his former lover's interest had only been in the academic sense; he doubted that Hannibal had ever truly loved him, not in the way that Will had loved.

Hannibal was a serial killer. He was a murderer, someone who had very little regard for human life. People like him weren't capable of love, of finer feelings.

It still shook Will to his core to know what his former boyfriend had done; Hannibal might say that he had done it in the name of love, but Will knew that in his heart, he could never believe that. The murders that Hannibal had committed were too violent, too horrific, to be about love.

His faith in that institution of the heart had been shaken, and he knew that it would never be the same again. He also knew that he would never love in the same way again.

He would never find anyone else who had accepted him the way that Hannibal had. That wholehearted acceptance came along once in a lifetime, if ever.

That wasn't something that could be duplicated within another person, and he knew it. Oh, he might develop some kind of relationship in the future; he might even be able to fool himself into believing that he was happy. But there was a crack in his faith, and he knew that it would keep widening.

Hannibal had changed him forever, and he would never be able to see life in quite the same way again. He was forever changed, and not, he thought, for the better.

"I still can't believe I fell in love with him, either," he murmured in response to Jack's words, even though he was sure that the other man didn't expect him to say anything.

"Why did you do it, Will/" Jack whispered. "Why did you let yourself fall?"

He wanted to say that he didn't know why he'd fallen for Hannibal, but he did. He knew exactly why, though a part of him was ashamed to admit the true reason.

It hadn't been because he was so deeply in love. He wouldn't be ashamed of loving, even if it was more than obvious that he'd chosen the wrong person to fall in love with.

"I did it because it was easy," he whispered, his voice a broken thread of sound in the quiet of Jack's office. "It was a mistake, and I know it was." He swallowed hard, closing his eyes, as though to block out his own words. "There were other paths, harder paths. And I wish I had taken them."

Any path would be better than the one he had chosen to take, the one that had led him to Hannibal's bed. But that had been the easiest thing to do, to follow his own desires.

Something had told him that he was doing the wrong thing, but he hadn't wanted to listen to that sobering voice of reason. Instead, he'd pushed it away, paid no attention to it.

And he would regret doing that for the rest of his life.

He had taken the easy way out by letting himself fall in love, but now that it was over, there was no easy way out of the emotional quagmire he'd become immured in.

Because, in spite of everything that he knew about Hannibal, he still loved the other man. He was sure that he would be in love until the day he died.

"There's no easy way out of love," he whispered, unable to hold the words back. "I was a fool to let myself fall, and I know that. But how do you come back from that? How do you start over when everything you wanted has crumbled to dust? I don't know where to go from here."

Jack shook his head, sighing softly. "I wish I knew what to tell you, Will. But just like there's no easy way out, there are no easy answers to what you're asking."

Will nodded slowly, looking away from Jack. He knew that there were no real answers to his questions. If there were, then he'd have to find them for himself, not expect to get them from someone else.

He suspected that he'd be looking for those answers for a very long time.


	44. One Good Reason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will doesn't believe the reason that Hannibal gives him for committing his horrific crimes.

"I did it because I love you, Will."

Hannibal's voice carried all the sadness in the world, but somehow, Will couldn't bring himself to believe that what he heard in that voice was actually _real_.

Hannibal was a serial killer. He wasn't capable of love, or any finer feelings. Will knew that for a fact; he knew that this man couldn't possibly love him.

Maybe Hannibal _thought_ that what he felt was love, but it couldn't be. There was no way that someone like him could love, no way that he could turn away from his horrific pursuits and become a rehabilitated member of society. It was a lost cause, one that should never be taken up.

"Give me one good reason to believe you," Will shot back, folding his arms across his chest. There. What would his former boyfriend have to say to _that_?

There wasn't anything that Hannibal could say to make Will believe him. There had been no love involved in what he had done. It had been brutal, inhuman.

Though of course, it somehow made a kind of twisted sense to Hannibal.

"You are unique, Will." Hannibal sighed, shaking his head, his gaze never leaving Will's face. "Those men took away a part of that uniqueness. They had to be eliminated."

Eliminated? The word sent a shiver of distaste down Will's spine. How could anyone look at other human beings so coldly, so dispassionately?

But that was how Hannibal looked at everyone -- probably even him. He might _think_ that he cared for Will, but inthe end, WIll knew that if he had displeased Hannibal in some way, that he would have been relegated to nothing morethan someone who had to be .... gotten rid of.

How long would he have lasted with Hannibal? Another few months? Another few years? There was no way to know, and he never _would_ know now. Which was for the best.

He didn't need to think about what could have been with them. He was well out of that relationship, even though he had to admit that he had a lot of regrets.

If only Hannibal hadn't been what he was, the two of them might have had a chance. He had loved Hannibal with all of his heart, had trusted him in every way. But there had been too many secrets and lies between them for anything to have ever worked, no matter how badly he might have wanted it to.

Did Hannibal feel the same? Did he regret that all of the secrets he'd kept, the fundamentals of who and what he was, had destroyed what they could have been?

Will pushed that question away from him, refusing to search for an answer. He didn't need to know how Hannibal felt, what he thought. He didn't _want_ to know.

It was far, far too late now. The time to ask that question had passed.

"That isn't a reason why you claim to love me," he said quietly, shaking his head. "It's just an excuse for you to kill. It doesn't convince me of your feelings."

Hannibal sighed again, shrugging his shoulders. "It is the only reason that I have, Will," he said, his voice very soft. "I cannot tell you anything else, not if you want the truth."

Maybe Hannibal _did_ think that what he'd done was a way of proving his feelings. Maybe, somewhere deep down inside that darkness that he called a soul, a heart, he _did_ have some shred of emotion for Will. But the younger man doubted that very much.

Serial killers weren't capable of love. What Hannibal thought was love wasn't that four-letter emotion at all. It was a much darker emotion, one that Will didn't want to contemplate.

His own love for this man had died, something that he'd thought would never happen. But it had been a fragile feeling, unable to hold up to the true facts presented to him in the cold light of day.

So which of them was more false? He had to wonder about that.

His own love had faded. But at least it had existed, a real, true emotion. His love hadn't been confused, deceptive and dark, the way that Hannibal's so-called "love" had been.

There was nothing left of that love. Nothing at all. He had searched his soul long and hard, looking for any remnants of what he had felt, but his love had been weak, unable to hold up to the revelations of what Hannibal was, and what he had done. That love hadn't been .... well, _real_.

If only things could have been different, Will told himself, standing up and turning away from the man behind the prison bars. But they weren't. They never could have been.

There was no good reason for what Hannibal had done.

At least, none that he could accept. No matter what Hannibal tried to tell him, he would never believe that those murders had been committed out of love.

That would, in a way, make him at least partially responsible for them. 

That was something he couldn't accept. He would never be able to understand what Hannibal had done, or why he had done it. He didn't want to know the reason.

Without another word, he walked out of the room, leaving only silence behind him.


	45. Born This Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monsters may be created, but Will is sure that the one he's facing now was born this way.

This was the last time he would come here.

Will gazed at Hannibal, so quiet and placid behind those bars. He had been the same way when he'd been imprisoned; it was as though all hope, all light, had gone out of his world.

Did Hannibal feel that way, too? He had to wonder about that. There was no telling how this man felt. Hannibal might see this as just another challenge.

Knowing Hannibal, he actually thought that he would be able to escape from his prison, that he would be a free man again. Will knew better. There was no way that Hannibal would be able to see daylight again; he was guarded too closely, too carefully, to ever emerge from behind these walls.

This place didn't seem to be lowering Hannibal's spirits; the other man had actually smiled at him when he had entered the room, and he seemed .... well, _cheerful_.

"I hadn't expected you to visit me again, Will," he said, his brows raised as though in question. "The last time you left, I had assumed that it was our last goodbye."

"So had I," Will told him, nodding in agreement.

But it hadn't been. Something had told him to come back here one last time, to ask Hannibal the question thta he had wanted to put to him ever since he'd discovered what this man was.

"I can only believe that this will be your last visit," Hannibal told him, and there was a tinge of sadness in his tone. "I will miss seeing you, Will, but it was inevitable."

"Yes, it was." Will didn't want to give anything away; he wanted to spring his question on Hannibal, wanted surprise to make the other man answer him honestly. "Why, Hannibal? Why did you do it? Why did you not only kill all those men who looked like me, but all those other people, too? Why do you kill?"

Hannibal shrugged, his gaze meeting Will's. "I do it because it is a part of me, Will. Perhaps I am conditioned to it. I don't really have an answer. Not one that you would understand."

"Try me," Will said, wishing that he could get more of an answer than that, but knowing that he probably wouldn't. He was sure that Hannibal had said all that he was going to say.

"Will, nobody's born a monster. We're made. We're a product of a cruel world .... filled with cruel people." Hannibal's voice was very soft, almost hesitant, and for once, Will could hear the ring of truth in what he said. He wasn't lying. He truly believed what he was saying.

Maybe he was right, Will told himself. Maybe he had been created. Maybe his urge to kill hadn't been ingrained in who he was, but was merely a product of all that he'd been through.

No, he couldn't make himself believe that. Monsters weren't created. The need to kill had to already be inside them; it wasn't manufactured. It had to be brought to the surface from within.

Hannibal was a monster. It was a part of him.

"I don't believe that," he whispered, his gaze not leaving the other man's. "I don't think you were created. I think you were born this way. What you are has always been inescapable."

Hannibal nodded, sighing softly. "Perhaps you're right, Will. But we will never truly know that for sure, will we? After all, you can't get inside my head the way that I can get into yours."

That made Will snap his mouth closed, swallowing back his reply. Hannibal was right. As good as he was at getting into the minds of killers, he didn't have Hannibal's ability to delve inside anyone's head. He didn't have the training, didn't know all of the ways of getting under a person's skin.

Hannibal did. He had always been good at that, at ferreting out information that Will would have preferred to remain hidden, things that he hadn't wanted to reveal to anyone.

But that wouldn't happen again. Hannibal was behind bars, captured and restrained forever. The monster had been caught, and would never harm anyone again. 

He would make sure of that. No more innocent people would die at Hannibal's hands.

"No, we'll never know for sure," he whispered, repeating Hannibal's words. "But whether you were born this way or not, you've ended up this way."

With those words, he got to his feet, staring at the man behind the bars, knowing that this would be the last time he ever saw Hannibal Lecter. He didn't intend to come back. He didn't need any more answers. He knew all that he needed to know about this man; he couldn't learn anything new.

Anything that Hannibal had kept hidden from him would stay hidden. The book was closed on this chapter of his life; and he had no interest in opening those pages again.

He was done with Hannibal, done with the mind games. He was .... _free_.

"Goodbye, Will." He heard the words as he turned to leave the room; he didn't turn around or acknowledge them. To his way of thinking, he'd already said his goodbyes.

His heart was light as he left the building, closing his eyes and raising his face to the sun. it was over. The nightmare that he'd lived through when Hannibal was a part of his life was done.

He felt as though he could _breathe_ again, after a long period of holding his breath.

It was the past. Now, it was time for him to look towards the future.

A future that wouldn't be haunted by the darkness that was Hannibal Lecter. A future where he wouldn't feel that there was a malevolent presence constantly looking over his shoulder.

He'd left all of that behind him. He refused to let it taint his life any further. And if any of it knocked on his door again, he would refuse to let it in.

From now on, the only monsters in his life would be the ones he chased in his work.

It didn't matter whether they had been born, or created.

All that mattered was that he caught all of them. And he had every intention of doing so.

After all, he thought with a wry smile, he'd done a pretty damn good job of catching the last one.


End file.
